Conquered by Love
by crystal-chan
Summary: After the treaty of Utrecht, Romano's stuck at Austria's house, under the dominion of his brother of all people. He wishes he knew how to get out, but he can only wait for Spain. Feli's hurting, Austria's a bastard and the Empire's a fool. Spamano
1. Defense Readiness

I kind of hate you guys for making me do this... I was just gonna have Different Kind of Conquest be a oneshot... NOW IT'S A FULL BLOWN THING!

Anyway, I've been working on this for a long time-I've got up to chapter four or so already written. I wanted to post the whole story at once, but I kinda lost steam. I need reviewers to kick my butt into gear, I suppose... heh.

The main thought of the continuing story was... a. the fact that Spain continued to fight so hard to regain S. Italy (next two wars) and b. questioning myself as to why HRE and N. Italy never meet up again; Himaruya seems to write it as if those two separated sometime in the late 1500's (if the age-century ratio is to be believed. google image search Growing up Italy or something like that-there's a pic that does a breakdown of his age by century that Himaruya did...) and yet Italy never saw him again? HRE didnt' "die" until 1804 so I was a little confused about the absence of communication-especially when the HRE was so involved in Northern Italy.

For those of you familiar with the original oneshot, this is still a standalone story. Some references to the A Different Kind of Conquest, but over-all it works by itself. All of you may, however, want to brush up on the War of the Spanish Succession (which separated Spain from its South Italian territories to begin with) and the War of the Quadruple Aliance (which Spain fought against EVERYONE to get Roma back XD) Wiki has some pretty nice, succinct, reasonably accurate summaries on the subject. This chapter/arc picks up with the few years of relative peace before the War of the Quadruple Aliance. (relative because there were a whole slew of other smaller wars going on at the time.)

For anyone who actually cares about the history; I have given Feli control of Savoy-technically it was an Italian state until it was traded to France in return for France's support of Italian unification around 1860(? don't quote me on that date). Savoy was, at the time, ruled by an Austrian prince, I think. Venice was currently at war with the Ottoman Turks, and Austria had joined in to defend it. Spain's boss had married a S. Italian princess, and, through politics, was already well on his way to regaining some south italian territories through inheritance of his sons, but one of Spain's leaders eventually get overzealous and provoke war. ^_^;; I guess they got tired of seeing Antonio mope?

anyway, that's enough history for now... I think you'll understand the rest of the chapter from here. I'll include more later if I think you need to know it.

Also note that I attempted to load this much earlier-Ffn was FAIL and wouldn't let me start a new story... CURSES! See just about everyone's rants about error type 2 if you don't know what I'm talking about... It was going on for at least a week. -_- I was finally able to upload this as its own story this week instead of appending it to Different Kind of Conquest. I had to lose some reviews to move it though... which made me really depressed. T_T

* * *

><p>It would be some time before he saw Antonio again. Years passed, as they were wont to do. Romano had never realized before just how slowly a year could crawl; being nations they were used to watching time and generations fly past as quickly and gently as the beat of a butterfly's wings. And yet he found that waiting endlessly like this made the days swim by as if through molasses. His nerves were always on edge, jangling at the slightest mention of his dear Spain. He knew it was not in Antonio's nature to wait for something he wanted. He knew that the idiot would come and come soon, and that there would be little that could bar the way. He had to believe in that, or he thought he might just kill himself with waiting.<p>

It was in those dark, heavy days that he found himself appreciating how much his little brother must have suffered, and _hating_ the bastard who'd dared to break Feliciano's heart with this ceaseless torment. At least Spain had a reason, and a damn good one, for seeing him away. The Holy Roman Empire didn't. He very well could have visited Feli in the last century and a half, or perhaps just written a damn letter. Instead he chose to make Austria deal with all things Italy related, even if the politics of it were more to do with the entire Empire than with Roderich's single state. Feliciano had gotten very practiced at hiding his hurt when he was told, every time, that the Holy Roman Empire wouldn't be visiting for this or that political meeting. Maybe Romano was the only one who noticed Feli's shuddering tears late at night, but he still did. He felt as if a knife drove into his heart with every drop. He wished he could make it stop, but Feli tried so hard to keep his pain a secret that helping felt somehow like a betrayal.

Or… perhaps that was a lie. He told himself he didn't want to ruin Felicaino's show, but the truth was he didn't know what he _could_ possibly do to make this right. He knew how he felt for Spain, as embarrassing as it was. He knew how much it hurt to think of that nation's tearstained face, his broken voice when they were torn apart… the mere mention of Spain made his heart feel tight in his chest, as if someone had reached into his soul and was squeezing the life out of him with every breath. It had been barely three years since he and Antonio had parted ways. And if Feliciano felt _that_ way, for more than _a hundred years… _He hated himself for sitting in the dark of their room and doing nothing, but watching and waiting was all he knew how to do. Feli cried in the dark and Lovi clenched his fists harder and wished he knew how to be strong.

* * *

><p>"Feliciano." Austria asked Italy one day over their too-rich, too <em>Austrian<em> breakfast. He and Hungary had been standing off to the side of the table, waiting for their masters to finish like the good servants they were. But the northern Italy was lucky enough that a few of his states were independent now and in various treaties with the rest of the world, so he was treated like some kind of pretty puppet for the time being. Not like Romano; Naples and Sardinia were firmly in the hands of the Austrian-Hapsburgs, and Sicily had been, ironically, given to Savoy and thus to his brother. They'd been kicked around by all the great powers for so very, very long, and now even Feli had torn away a piece of him. His little brother had become like _them_, however much it was more Italy's bosses' faults then the fault of Feliciano himself. The idiot was still loveable, still a ditz and still a crybaby but there was a new steely bitterness in his eyes sometimes that Romano didn't like. Feli looked at him like that some days, and Romano began to feel himself chafing under his brother's power.

Wasn't it always supposed to have been him who led Feli around? When had the world become so upside down?

"Hm?" his little brother paused for only a hair's breadth of a second before continuing his meal. He, at least, seemed perfectly happy with that jerk's "gourmet" food. Romano fought the urge to scoff and tried to keep his face as impassive as possible. Last time he'd been cuffed for his "impertinence." It hadn't really hurt. But Feliciano's determined ignorance of the event had somewhat. He didn't want to be reminded that his brother didn't really care about him anymore. Had he ever?

"What has Savoy been doing to prepare for the event of a Spanish invasion?" It was pathetic, but Romano's heart set to aching and beating like a hummingbird's in his chest once again simply because the magic word "Spain" had been spoken aloud. He raised his gaze to meet that of his brother, ever so briefly across the room. Feli's eyes were steel and hurt and poison even as Lovino's pleaded with him for help. He wished his brother would do something stupid, would speak out for his sake or sabotage Austria or _something_. But the look on his brother's face in that instant was enough to tell him it wouldn't happen. He cursed under his breath as he looked away. Was it possible to love someone and to hate them at the same time?

"Ve, the Duke does what he can, I think." Just like that, fast enough to give him whiplash Feliciano had gone back to his regular self, smiling and vapid. _Venice is the city of masks,_ Romano reminded himself bitterly. Feli's break in character had been only a split second's glance in Romano's direction. It was highly unlikely that anyone else had seen it. But Hungary's tense grip on his left arm was enough to make him think maybe he wasn't the only one. "I think he's more worried about the Turks right now. Since they're harassing Venice and you, so nearby… thinking about fighting another war on top of that is a bit—"

"As I thought," Austria interrupted, turning his tea cup in its saucer before lifting the fine china to his lips. Feli immediately quieted himself, his smile a little less potent. Romano vacillated between irritation and pity. He wished his stupid brother would stop allowing this; stop letting Austria and France and whoever else push him around their game-board. And yet… a part of him understood that Feliciano had been in this house for _so long_. Maybe too long. He felt like he was being crushed in this place after a mere three years of it. What kind of damage did a couple of centuries do? He had a feeling he wouldn't have survived it if their places had been switched. "I may as well tell you now. We think it might be best if Sicily goes to the Holy Roman Empire."

The world seemed to stop turning for a few seconds at this pronouncement. Romano felt as if his eyes had gone impossibly wide, his hands clenched to shaking fists at his sides. Across the room, Feliciano hadn't fared much better. In his shock, he dropped his fork with a clatter back to his plate, spattering the immaculate table cloth with crumbs. This time, he _knew_ he wasn't the only one to see his brother's personality waver. The younger Italy had winced with his whole body to hear his precious Empire's name, one hand flying to fist itself at his chest. Maybe it ached as much as Romano's did.

"_Che cosa… Bastardo, _don't I get a say in this?" He blurted before he could remember himself. He didn't like belonging to his brother, but Savoy was preferable to the entire goddamn Holy Roman Empire. Spain would already have enough to contend with when he finally decided to take Europe by storm. (And he would. He _had to_)If the Empire held the island then his chances of being freed were… "You can't just—" Austria's contemptuous glare and Hungary's silent, pleading grasp on his arm were enough to shut him up again. No, no he didn't get a say in this. And it wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but he was a fucking colony right now. To be traded and touted as they wished. He was too weak to do anything but wish and wait. It only made him miss Antonio all the stronger; a kind of longing that settled so deeply in his being that his very bones ached with it.

"Oh, oh really?" Feliciano stammered after a few minutes of silence had passed, acting as though Romano's outburst had never happened at all. His lashes were wet and dark against his too-pale complexion. There was so very much _wrong_ that Romano felt like screaming. Feli was supposed to be all dry eyes and sunshine and olive-tan skin, and Hungary wasn't meant to worriedly, silently acquiesce, and _he was meant to belong to Spain!_ "I don't think the Duke will agree with you very easily…" It was a pretty pathetic attempt at dissuasion.

"Mm," Austria hummed noncommittally. "But I am sure we could come to an agreement. You said it yourself, Italy. Venice is at war with the Turks, and I know you must be feeling stretched thin. As do I—I'd be hard-pressed to come to your aid if the Spaniards invaded Sicily. Give the island to someone for which it wouldn't be a liability." The word _liability_ echoed through his thoughts one more time. Romano felt like mauling someone. He _wasn't_ just a piece of territory to be tossed about strategically in war. He was a nation with a brother and people he loved—just like they were. Would it kill Austria to remember that sometimes?

"Did… did _he_ agree with you?" Feli's voice was filled with such a fragile facsimile of cheer that it was painful to listen to. Romano knew instantly that if the goddamn Holy Roman Empire only asked, his brother would give him up in a heartbeat. It was another hurt to add to his swiftly growing pile, another wedge between them and another reason to hate the world.

"Well… Not in so many words. I suspect he didn't really want to take something of yours."

"His?" Romano couldn't help himself. Only Hungary's glare and slightly-less-than-gentle rap against his skull kept him from exploding in to a full blown rant. Bloody nice of the Holy Roman Empire to consider Felicaino's feelings over _Romano's_ fucking territory! Goddamn it! He felt more frustrated than he could possibly convey. He just wanted to find a good musket and start firing away at the next person who pissed him off.

"In any case," Austria's glare was sharp enough to make his anger abate for the moment. He _hated_ how powerless he was, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The game was all about self-preservation for now—about living long enough that he'd be able to see his tomato bastard's face again. "He asked to speak to Romano about it first."

"What?" Both Italies said the word at the same time. Romano was loud enough to wake the dead, full of little more than shock. But Feliciano's voice was quiet, and aching with hurt and need and too many other things that Romano whished he couldn't understand. Feli turned to him and his eyes were broken shards of amber. No, this… this wasn't right. He had to do something or risk losing his brother forever.

"Look maybe it… maybe it makes me mad, but if his supreme jerk-ness wants to talk to anyone about it he needs to be talking to Feli." If it were anyone else, he'd be happy that someone was actually considering his opinion on the matter of where his land went, and even though he'd been bitter over the very same subject earlier, he couldn't go along with this. He could already see the jealousy creeping into Feliciano's expressive face, poor kid so full of hurt that he was shaking.

"You know that's not going to happen, Romano." Austria chided softly. He too was watching the younger Italy with worried eyes and a furrowed brow. Romano didn't care to countenance his concern. He felt more like gutting the piano-bastard. If he'd known how much this would hurt Feli, then he should never have said anything at all!

"Why not, Austira_?" _Feliciano was sitting with his face down turned, head in his hands. He was trying to hide his tears but they were evident enough in his voice. He sounded so broken… Lovino lurched forward to help him but then he remembered darkness and sobbing and the promises he'd made meaninglessly to himself and he paused. He couldn't make anything better before… what made him think he was strong enough to help now? It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring the goddamn Holy Roman Empire back to his senses.

Hungary had no such compunctions. She was racing across the room, ready to take up the big sister act again.

"Italy—"

"_Non chiamarmi così!_" His little brother suddenly shouted, voice full of enough bitterness and latent anger that even Austria looked a little afraid. "I'm _Veneziano, _or Feliciano or whatever, ok? But there are _two_ Italies and we aren't… we're not interchangeable." He trailed off into a pitiful whimper. "Are we?" The question was directed at him, he was sure, but Romano only winced and turned away.

"It—Feliciano," Austria started this time. Hungary was still watching with wide, sympathetic eyes. "No, you are not interchangeable. You are being irrational. If you calm down you will see that this is for the best. Now—"

"Shut up, Roderich. You aren't helping." Hungary finally scolded. Romano wondered why she would stand silent as a doll, waiting on Austria hand and foot most of the time, and yet she could get away with talking to him that way when it really mattered. Wasn't Austria going to discipline her or… hurt her or something? Otherwise he didn't know why they had to act so obedient all the time.

He glanced at the older nation, and was a little surprised at what he found. Austria didn't look angry. Rather he seemed worried and a bit deflated. Maybe he genuinely did want to help Feli in his weird, stuffy, Austrian way, and maybe that shouldn't have shocked Romano so much. Deep down, pansy-piano-guy wasn't a complete heartless bastard. He knew that. It didn't mean he was any more ready to forgive that jealous, pompous _asshole_ for taking him away from Spain.

"No, you're right." Feliciano finally murmured, lifting his head up from the shell of his arms. "It's probably for the best. I—I'd distract him or something." Romano chanced a glance at his baby brother. He wished he hadn't. Feliciano looked exhausted and pale, like the tragic heroine of some madman's fifth act. And yet, he'd adopted that goddamn smile again. It looked horrible against the backdrop of tear-tracks and dying hearts. "Ve, I'm pretty worthless, I guess. Why would he want a meeting with me?"

"Feli, no, you aren't—" Hungary tried to console, reaching out to card her fingers through his red-brown hair. He knocked her hand away and stood from the table in one motion.

"Excuse me, Austria. I must write a letter to the Duke." Feliciano murmured in his usual, childish voice, his back still turned, before walking away. Hungary and Austria waited for the sound of the door slamming before springing to motion.

"What were you thinking, bringing that up? Roderich, you know how much it hurts him when—"

"Yes, I do know. Which is why I would rather he hear about it now than for it to be sprung on him later by one of the others." Neither nation seemed to remember Romano's presence. Roderich sat hunched uncharacteristically with his elbows on the table, curled up and defensive like a wild animal. Elizaveta was whirling around him, switching spasmodically between tidying the dishes and making abortive hand motions, as if she would cuff him about the ears.

"Can't you… can't you talk to him? For Feli?" She asked once the silence had dragged on long enough. Romano thought she sounded unusually frail.

"I tried. He doesn't listen." Austria's voice was similarly fragile. He rubbed the space between his eyes as if he had a headache. "He seems very tired these days. I… I worry for him."

For about two seconds, he wondered about the pain they shared. How did it feel to carry the burden of nation, to be at war and yet to have to deal with all this melodrama? He'd heard that the Holy Roman Empire had been like part of the family and he knew that Feli must not have been the only one hurt when that brat left. Did they ache too? Then the moment was gone, and Romano just as swiftly decided he was too angry to care.

They both loved his brother in their own way. That much was blatantly evident. Lovino supposed he should thank them, but he hated them for it too. Sometimes it seemed they cared more for his only family than he himself could and it rankled to think that they probably _knew_ his brother better as well. They'd certainly lived with him for longer. Romano's only real tie was of blood—the heart's innate, fierce love for its own ilk. He loved Feliciano with a protective ardor that bordered on possessiveness, but he could not pretend to know him. These two strangers seemed like they did, and it irked him in a way no words ever could.

"Romano, go and get your things together." Austria's voice, back to its usual hardened steel, broke through his moment of introspection and he snapped back to attention. "I'll have the carriage drawn for you within the hour." He was too wrapped up in it all to protest the short notice he'd been given or to splutter and rant about his mistreatment as he usually might. Feli's hurt and his own confusion weighed heavily on his heart, and he felt that this thing was just so wrong that it must not be real. He watched Roderich push slowly away from the table and waltz elegantly from the room with dim eyes and racing thoughts. Music began drifting to them, lachrymose and haunting, from the main hall not long after his exit.

"Don't worry Roma, I'll get the dishes. You should pack." Hungary prodded him, gently pushing him towards the doorway his captor had most recently used. Romano shook his head and the dream shattered.

"Hungary, I can't go. You _know _I can't go!" He pleaded, sure he would get nowhere but hoping all the same. "Feli will _hate_ me!" Tears he did not know he still had to shed welled up in his eyes. Now more than ever he felt his own powerlessness and he wanted to burst with it. He eyed the fine china sitting stacked on the breakfast table and wondered if he could get away with breaking some of it.

"Oh, Roma, Feli cannot hate you." Elizaveta cooed. "It will hurt him and he will be jealous, but he will heal in time. It is not in his nature to hate." _Yes it is_, Romano thought. _I know that it is in his nature because it is in mine, and we are cut of the same cloth._ "It will be ok, you'll see." And she held him close and petted his hair until he'd shed the last tear and his legs stopped feeling like they might fall out from under him.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, embarrassed once his senses had returned to him. Elizaveta was nice enough, but she was his brother's precious person, not his. He suspected that she could be if he let her, but he didn't want to. Spain took up too much space in his heart and his life already. He didn't want to have to make room for any other. "Not that I needed it, or anything." She laughed, and it made him bristle like a cat.

"Of course not, dear. Now, you'd best pack." She pushed him once more toward the door and he felt all the weight of this morning settle firmly on his shoulders. He bore it with clenched fists; there would be no more tears.

"Tch. 'Carriage drawn within the hour,' he says. Like it's as easy as that to go cavorting across Europe on a whim," Romano complained, mostly just to make himself feel more normal. "Bastard." He threw in for good measure, and he felt the pieces of his composure finally cement into place. So he was going to meet the Holy Roman Empire? So fine. He'd just have to make the best of it. He'd wanted to talk to that brat for a while now. Maybe he'd even thank Austria later for setting this meeting up. Yeah. Good.

It was time to give that neglectful, selfish, _cazzo_ a piece of his mind!

* * *

><p>Translation notes: (only doing the really non-obvious ones. I think one word curses are pretty easy to figure out)<p>

__Che cosa...- __What the...

_Non chiamarmi così!- _Don't call me that!


	2. Talk of Requisition

WOOT! Finally, our error troubles seem to be over! :D

Sorry this took a while to get out-I've been enticed by Dragon Age 2... . CURSE YOU ANDERS AND YOUR AWESOMENESS!

That, and I've hit a bit of a depression. Some real crap stuff has been going on in my life lately and it's making it a bit difficult to focus on writing... ;_;

So... partly because of that, not much to say today. Hope you like it?

* * *

><p>A lot of people these days spoke of the Holy Roman Empire as though he were close to being some kind of god. Romano usually scoffed at them. The Holy Roman Empire, back in the time when Romano had known him well, had never been anything to make a fuss over. Of course, back then they'd all been little more than babies so perhaps it was an unfair conclusion, but he didn't think the brat had gotten any better over time. The brief glimpses he got when Spain would bring him over for a visit showed him a short, blundering child who harped about his own greatness and trailed along in Feli's wake all day, his face perpetually scarlet. He'd come to think of the Empire as childish, taciturn, selfish and naïve—an evaluation that only seemed to be bolstered by that jerk's later treatment of his <em>fratellino<em>.

He would have a very hard time reconciling that idea of a person with the one who finally opened his carriage door and let the cold, winter air in a week or so after he'd left the house in Vienna.

"_Römische Italien!_" the Austrian soldier crowed, smiling, one hand held out to help Romano down the coach's tiny steps. The outside light was a sharp contrast to the heavily curtained interior he'd been sitting in for days, and glinting off of that unsightly hair it was enough to momentarily blind him. "Or, perhaps I should say _Italia Romana?_ I never know what language I should be speaking these days." Before Romano could regain his bearings he was unceremoniously grabbed, and lowered to the solid earth. He didn't have enough wit left in him to protest. "In any case, it is good to see you, Romano," and he'd scarcely opened his mouth to rain insults down on this unknown assailant before he was swept again off of his feet into a rib-cracking hug.

"Let go of me! What…?" He flailed, voice muffled by the rough, military-issue cotton of the stranger's shirt.

"Oh, sorry," The young teen in slightly ragged uniform had the savior-faire to look abashed. He put Romano down with hands that felt far too steady and strong to be normal. Roma squinted and tried to figure out who the heck he was dealing with here. He felt instinctually that this had to be _some_ other nation but he didn't know who. His new escort was a bit younger than Romano had first gathered—the shadows beneath his eyes and the starkness of his uniform had conspired to make him look more adult. But now that his sight had adjusted to the glare, Romano guessed that the stranger was probably somewhere around his or Feli's age in appearance, no older than 14 and no younger than 12. What was really astonishing was his height. He towered over Romano by a good foot, with all the indications that he was nowhere near finished growing. His appearance was rounded off by a pair of slightly ridiculous side burns and piercing, blue eyes. If Romano didn't know any better than he might think he was facing…

"Ho-Holy Roman…?" He trailed off, eyes wide. The nation he'd been examining only guffawed.

"Have I changed that much? Really?" His eyes were warm and teasing, if a little tired, and he clasped Romano warmly on the shoulder. "And here I was thinking that you haven't changed a bit." The Italian sniffed at that, and turned away, somehow affronted. "Come on Roma, you can't be mad at me already. We have a lot to talk about, you know." The thought was sobering. Romano forgot his indignation, his eyes hardening to cool, unbending brass.

"Yes," he growled, thinking of poor Feliciano and of his own longing for Spain, "we do." His glare must have been something formidable indeed if it could have the Holy Roman Empire balking so easily.

"Jesus, Ludwig, what'd you do to that kid?" Someone spoke up from nearby. Romano hadn't noticed before due to his temporary bewilderment, but there were other soldiers, real humans this time, milling about the carriage. They were performing a number of chores; unloading cargo, speaking quietly in Italian to the footman…The man talking now was apparently in charge of un-hitching his coach horses. "He sounds madder than a hornet."

"Ah, I'm not really sure, sir." The term of respect had Romano doing a double-take. Nations played a military role in their country often enough, but mostly superficially and mostly as commanders. They'd never been one hundred percent sure how damage taken in battle affected their people, so as a rule no one was suicidal (or maybe just stupid) enough to pose as a regular soldier unless there were very pressing circumstances. But the lack of any decoration on the Empire's uniform was telling enough.

"Oh _Dio mio_ what—a _footsoldier_? You can't be serious!" Holy Roman Empire blushed and suddenly he looked much more like the kid Lovino remembered.

"Hey, don't you be knocking our Ludwig, here!" The human soldier who'd spoken earlier had apparently overheard, and misunderstood the reason for Romano's disbelief. "He's a damn good fighter and a genius on his feet. If it weren't for his age, they'd have promoted him over me already, easy!" He finished what he was doing to the tack, passed the job on to a bystander with a single word in a language Romano couldn't identify, and walked toward them to ruffle the Empire's hair. "O'course, I can't say I'm not glad they haven't. Who would I tease if you was my superior, eh, Luddy?" and he grappled the great Holy Roman Empire into a headlock, the two of them tousling like overlarge puppies. Romano couldn't do much more than stare on in shock. "Ah, just as well. Did you want to borrow my tent for a bit to talk to your friend, Ludwig? We've got time enough before we see those Turk bastards again, I'll wager." The empire nodded, his face still flaming red, before grabbing Romano's coat sleeve and dragging him toward what he supposed must be some kind of military camp. If he'd expected a quiet visit with a fellow country in someone's meeting house or music hall as would have been usual, then he was going to be sadly disappointed.

"What on earth do you think you're—and does Austria know about…? And, and…." He sputtered as they marched quickly along. His mind was racing four times faster than his mouth. Usually when this happened, Antonio would laugh him into silence, but there was no Spain to stop him now. He kept spitting out half-sentences until his thoughts and his memories finally connected and he realized there'd been something odd about the last conversation. "Wait… was that guy calling you 'Ludwig'?" The Empire's blush, which had been retreating, came back in full force.

"It's my human name. I'm not an Empire here." Romano couldn't help it. He had to act as old as he looked every once in a while too.

"That's an odd name," he chortled, jeering. The Holy Roman Empire ruffed up like a bird about to fight.

"It is not!" He whined, his face petulant and sulky. "My people gave it to me!" Lovino thought then that his initial confusion must have been off the mark, because this was exactly the kind of person he'd been expecting to see today. Except in only a few moments, just as quickly as it had come, that expression was gone. The Empire was laughing too hard to keep it. Full, belly aching laughs that soon had him doubling over. "Oh," he cried out once he'd mastered his voice again. Romano was content to stand as far away as possible with the nation still holding his wrist. He hoped whatever this was wasn't contagious. "Oh Romano, I had forgotten what it felt like to be so childish. Forgive me. It really is wonderful to see you again." And the dazzling, sad smile Ludwig graced him with threw him completely off balance.

"_Ist alles in Ordnung, Ludwig?"_ A man nearby saw them and asked, looking concerned. Romano didn't speak any German, but all the same, he wasn't sure if he was comfortable with the way the soldiers were glaring him down, hovering about the Empire like his goddamned body guards. Even without knowing who he was, they gravitated around him naturally.

"_Ja, es ist in Ordnung. Danke." _At Ludwig's word, they all turned away. "Come on, we can talk more easily if we make it to the tent. Try not to tease me too strongly till then, alright?" It was said with a kind of easy camaraderie that Romano would never have expected from someone who had once been so confrontational. He decided to shut up, and allowed himself to be led.

As they traipsed through the camp toward their destination, Romano felt more and more like he'd fallen into some kind of twisted dream world. Everywhere he looked, there were soldiers—men marching in parade lines, training, goofing off. Some of them didn't look any older than "Ludwig," others seemed too old to lift even a bayonet. Still, they all looked hardened, determined. These men had obviously already seen battle at least once. Some even went about with bandages still wrapped around fresh wounds, the faint hint of red seeping through white linen to tell its own tale. Not even the Holy Roman Empire had gone untested; when Romano stared hard at his escort's back, he could just see the edge of white, peering out from the neckline of his uniform shirt.

He frowned, fists clenching. If the _idiot_ Empire had allowed himself to be hurt, what happened to the people who lived within? Did he know? Did he even care? Not for the first time that day, he wondered just what the hell Austria was thinking, sending him to the front-line of the war. Why risk it? And it _certainly_ didn't make any sense that he was allowing the Holy Roman Empire to stay here as a regular infantryman.

"What the hell are you doing in a place like this, _Ludwig_?" he growled, no longer able to contain his confusion as they passed what appeared to be the medical tent. His words could have been lost amidst the hellish sounds of the men there slowly dying, but he watched the Empire's shoulders tense up all the same. He got a glimpse of hard, blue eyes, the hand on his wrist yanking him forward and making him trip.

"Wait until we reach the sergeant's tent, alright?" That voice was pure, cold steel. Romano felt as if his blood had turned to ice in his veins just to hear it. He shivered and spoke no more.

They crested one final hill, and Romano was able to see the entire camp spread sprawling behind and before him; a tiny sea of tents with ant-like men scampering all around them from behind the clouds of his frosting breath. "Almost there," the Empire called, switching mercurially back to his good humor. Still, there was a sour note in the air now that hadn't been there before, and the blonde's smile didn't reach his eyes. Romano found himself stupidly wondering if Ludwig shouldn't take lessons from his little brother on how to wear a mask; the Empire could use the practice.

"Ah, here we are!" his host finally called, and they ducked into a tent just a little larger than those around it. Inside, it was warm and comfortable enough, he supposed. Not at all what he was used to when it came to political meetings, but since he was mostly just planning on tearing the Holy Roman Empire a new one, he figured it would do just fine. "You can sit if you like," he drawled, gesturing to the too-thin pile of down and cushioning that must have been serving as this small-time officer's bed.

"No thank you," Romano didn't miss a beat in answering. Ludwig was tall enough when they were both standing, and it was intimidating. If he sat down, he'd feel like a complete girl. He'd lose his nerve. Maybe that's what the Empire was counting on? Or maybe Romano was just getting paranoid. He shook his head to rid himself of the wandering thoughts, and tried to return to the issue at hand. "Did Austria make me come out here for a reason, or are you going to keep playing pretend host?" There was a pregnant silence for what felt like forever. Those mad, dead eyes stared him down in the shadows and he began to feel like he'd angered some kind of black god. He had just started to stammer his apology when Ludwig finally blinked, and bent his mighty will. He seemed to collapse in on himself with a hiss of air, dropping like a sack of flour onto the make-shift bed. Here in the dark of the tent, Romano could suddenly see the sleepless, bruised eyes and sallow cheeks, more minor wounds that had not been so clear in the bright, grey sunlight. Every part of the Holy Roman Empire looked utterly exhausted in that moment and he began to see why Austria had seemed so worried about his wayward "son."

He was far too put out to care. Anyone who could hurt Feli like that didn't deserve sympathy.

"Eager to leave me, are you Romano?" The words were meant to be teasing, but they were just so bone-weary that it almost made Lovino feel guilty. There was the soft rustle of pillows, a sharp, short bark of laughter. "Don't answer that. I probably know well enough what you think of me. That is not why I asked Austria to send you here." _So why did you?_ Romano nearly screamed in frustration. He didn't want to be here any longer. He didn't want to drag this out, and give Feliciano more and more time to dwell in bitter jealousy. "Did his musical highness tell you anything before you left?" He nearly choked in shock to hear such a joke fall so easily from his fellow nation's lips; surely if Roderich ever heard the name he'd have the Empire sufficiently castigated. He didn't condone that kind of disrespect in his house. Although… The Holy Roman Empire wasn't exactly part of his house any longer, was he?

Then again, maybe punishment for insolence was part of the reason there was currently a legendary empire hiding out here among the foot soldiers of Austria's front-line defense...? No, something told him that wasn't the case. Romano frowned. The blond before him was a mess of weariness and strength and contradiction, not at all the petulant child he'd expected. He didn't know what to do in the face of all of this. "Romano? Did you hear me?"

"All he told me was that you wanted to discuss requisitioning of _my _land." He did his best to glare the Empire into submission. Ludwig didn't seem to notice at all.

"Ah, yes. Austria thinks it would be best to hand Siciliy to me…"

"And you don't?" Romano snorted, full of an indignant, slow-burning frustration that had nothing to do with Feli or Spain or any of it. Maybe deep down, he was really just tired of everyone pulling him this way and that like a mule to be led. Blue eyes pierced him again, freezing, smoldering… he let the frustration bleed out and looked away.

"Do you think there is any chance that Spain would hurt _Italien_ in his haste to get Sicily back?" and that simple question managed to bring back all his old, half-forgotten jealousies. The answer poured out of him faster than he could stop it.

"As if! That Bastard likes 'cute little Feli' far too much to do anything rash. Not even—" _Not even for me_. The words hung unsaid in the cool air of the tent. Romano had slapped a hand to his own mouth and bit his palm to silence them. They hurt all the same. His hatred for the Holy Roman Empire grew deeper as old wounds re-opened. No. _no. _Believing that Spain would come for him was, some days, the only thing keeping him going. If he let himself remember Antonio's regard for Feliciano… Somewhere in his heart the seed of doubt began to take root. Romano was too weak and angry to tear it out again.

"That's exactly what I thought." The Empire's voice was not smug, despite his self-assured words. "And so you may tell Austria: I still maintain that we keep Sicily with Savoy." Silence. Romano listened to nothing save the sound of his own teeth grinding for a few moments before he finally lost it.

"…that's it?" He groused, his shoulders nearly shaking with fury. "You're telling me you dragged me all the way out here, against my wishes, and possibly made my little brother hate me, just to confirm something you already knew?"

"No," Ludwig answered, easy and calm. Perhaps the skin around his eyes had tightened, just the slightest bit, at the mention of Feli. Perhaps Romano was simply imagining it. His blue eyes watched the Italian through a veil of patronizing amusement. "Not really." He didn't continue. Lovino waited patiently for five anger-ragged breaths before continuing.

"_Then_ _why the hell did you bring me here?"_

"Maybe it was because Austria somehow convinced himself that I would change my mind? If you'll remember, _he_ was the one who pushed this meeting on both of us." The Empire matched Romano's ire with a bitter smile that only served to make his wrath boil hotter. He opened his mouth to shout his frustration, but Ludwig's sudden, sharp laugh, grating and pain-filled, cut him off. "Ah, that's not true. I suppose I could have stopped him if I really wanted." He was still sitting slumped amongst the folds of the cot, face half-covered with his hands. His soul-less eyes glittered out at Romano from the shadow of his bandage-wrapped fingers. "The truth is," he began, and did his voice almost border on timid? "I let Austria drag you here because I wanted… I needed to speak with you. Though now that you've finally come, the words seem too hard to say." Even sprawled and exhausted on that mean cot as he was, there was an air about the Holy Roman Empire that made him seem formidable, frightening and as immovable as stone. But it was the crack in his voice and the near-imperceptible shaking of his hands that allowed Romano to finally say the words that had been itching at him this whole time.

"Too hard to say…? _Pezzo di cazzo, bastardo, cretino..._" Lovino flew into a fury of forbidden words, letting himself curse wildly for a few more seconds until he felt a little of the heavy weight lift from his heaving chest.

"And I had thought you were supposed to be a good Catholic nation, Romano." The Empire was teasing half-heartedly, but Romano's blood was rushing too hotly in his ears for him to notice.

"_Stai Zitto!" _he spat, "You forced me out to a battlefield in the middle of nowhere to tell me words that you can't bear to say, so why don't you do me a favor and let me talk instead." The Empire sighed long-sufferingly.

"Romano, please. It's not for no reason. I—"

"Shut up!" He commanded again, all the frustrations of his last three years waiting in the tear-filled dark were spilling out of him. "I've got my reasons too! I didn't _have_ to come. I could have put Austria off just as easily." A complete lie, and the Empire knew it, but Romano really didn't care. "I came because of Feliciano, because of my _fratellino, _because I can't stand to keep watching him cry himself to sleep every night over a complete bastard like you!" His chest heaved for breath. The Empire said nothing. Romano chanced a glance at him and was surprised to note the genuine shock on that ancient, childish face.

"_Italien_ is… what?" He looked suddenly tiny and pitiful, crumpled on the officer's cot. Romano began to notice that his uniform fit him a little loosely. Did it seem to swallow him?

"Or how did you _think_ he feels? All this endless waiting for you to return—for more than a century! Wishing that the person he loves more than anyone, though only God knows why, would simply deign to _see_ him?" Romano had to swallow to keep his own tears from spilling. Stupid to talk about this when Spain was lodged so painfully in the forefront of his mind, but it had to be said. "How do you think it feels to love someone more than anything, and to know that they hate you?"

"I could never hate him!" The Holy Roman Empire practically roared, jumping to his feet with renewed vigor. Not five minutes earlier the sight might have been enough to stun Romano into silence. Right now he was too far into his rant to stop.

"Well, you have a very funny way of showing it! You'd rather give Austria control over your every decision than go anywhere near Feliciano, so what, exactly, is he _supposed _to think?" Ludwig glared down at him, his mouth opening and closing like that of a dying fish.

"That's not… I never did that because I hated him. I—"

"No? Then perhaps it was for one of the many other reasons Feliciano has sobbed out when he thinks I can't hear. Because he's useless and distracting? Because he's clumsy? Oh, how about because you found out he's a boy and you're disgusted that you ever kissed him? That's a personal favorite of m—"

"_It was never because of Feli at all!"_ The Empire had somehow gotten closer while Lovino had been mid-rant. Now the brunet was left blinking and nearly deafened in the wake of Ludwig's sudden combustion. "I never cared about any of that! I loved his distractions, I found his mistakes cute, and maybe I was a little caught off-guard when I found out he was a boy," the Empire trailed off for a moment, his face going red. Romano scoffed and parted his lips to start again, but he'd barely gotten a breath in edgewise before his opponent recovered. "But I quickly got over it! I didn't fall in love with Feliciano because he was a girl. I fell in love with him because he's kind, and gentle, and so full of life that everyone around him can't help but smile. Because he likes to paint, because he's so picky about his food, and because he somehow makes friends with everything he touches. I fell in love with him because he's everything that I could never be." The Empire was smiling fondly, tragically now even as he panted with the exertion of his vehemence. His dead eyes had come to life with memories, glistening with barely-restrained tears. It was obvious, even to Romano, that he really did love Feliciano.

"I didn't decide to hide myself away because I hated _him_. It's _me_ that I have come to hate." He shook his weary head, staring blankly at his hands. The look on his face now… Romano had seen it before. But where? "Bloody and scarred as I am, for all the lives that I've ruined…After the battle-lust wore off I knew I could never face him again. I didn't deserve to. I…. What if I hurt him somehow? What if…. What if he saw the truth of me and decided he hated me too?" The bandages on those trembling fingers were white, but Ludvig's face was dispassionately self-disgusted. As if he could see the red still dripping from them. It was, indeed, a look that Romano had seen before.

_Lovi, mi cariño, how can you still bear to look at me? Bathed in blood as I am?_

He hissed through his teeth at the memory; Antonio standing sea-tossed and war-weary in the rain at his door step so long ago, victorious and ruthless and begging him still for forgiveness. _Spain_, he thought frantically, and for a moment, the longing overtook his whole being. It blinded him, deafened him. His very soul _ached _with it. _Is this what you and I could have become? _He blinked and breathed until the world started moving again, and his eyes could see more than flashes of sunshine on the waves of the Mediterranean.

"You are a coward and a fool." He rasped, his voice soft and slow. The Empire did not contest his declaration. "Feliciano would love you no matter your deeds. He would cut out his own heart if he thought it could help you. He waited every day for you for more than a hundred years. And yet you still prefer to hide in the midst of whatever battle you can find!" Romano was shouting by the end, his fists clenched to the point of pain at his sides. "You are an _idiot!"_

"I know," The Empire choked in answer, "I know that."

"Then do something about it!_"_ He wasn't sure if he was commanding or pleading. "Stop hiding away from him. Show him your face just once. _Mio dio, _he'd be happy if you would just _write him a letter!" _He was nearly shaking with the force of his anger. The Holy Roman Empire did nothing but wait for him to finish with big, pain-filled eyes.

"It's too late for that, Romano. I realize now that what I thought was wrong… but I'm no good for him. It's better if he never sees me again." The Italian felt ready to scream with frustration.

"Don't you think I'd be the _first _person to suggest that?" he bellowed, and in all honesty he agreed. "I would kill you myself if I could, but stupid Feli loves you more than anything. And I just… I just want—" His voice caught. Romano had to stop until all the tears were swallowed away once again. "I don't want to ever hear him sobbing again, or see him hurting even as he tells me everything is fine. And as much as I hate you with everything that I am, I know that you're the only one who can fix it." Silence. There was a light pitter-patter against the outside fabric of the tent. Perhaps it had begun to snow? They sat and glared at each other in the dim light until Ludwig caught his breath enough to start over.

"He loves me still?"

"Yes," Romano gritted out, "though only _God_ knows why." The Empire sighed, his mouth twisted into a painful half-smile. It wasn't an expression at all close to relieved.

"I had hoped that maybe he hadgrown to resent me by now. At least that way, it wouldn't hurt him to know that I…."

"Who are you to talk about hurting him and keeping him safe anyway? In your stupid shame you've hurt him worse than anyone else ever could! You should spend less time asking about Spain and more time—"

"I'm dying, Romano." He didn't shout. He didn't have to. Those quiet, unassuming words put a halt to the brunette's rant immediately for their sheer incomprehensibility alone.

"You….what?"

"That's why I had Austria drag you here. Those are the words that I didn't really want to say. I'm dying. Slowly. I can feel it like poison in my veins." The words themselves were so dramatic. Romano wondered why they sounded so dispassionate and far away. "And you are the only other soul who knows." The Empire finished with a much less twisted smile.

Romano pinched his own arm, winced, and stared at the reddened skin.

He didn't wake up.

"You're lying," he sputtered once he'd finally mustered enough brain cells to start talking again. "You… you still hold more than half of Europe, easily! You can't be…"

"All empires fall, and they don't do it swiftly. They decay from within over time, growing weaker and weaker until some kind of disaster finally pushes them over the edge. I'm no different from the rest." The blonde spoke as casually as if they were simply discussing the weather.

"So what! So then your empire will be gone in a couple hundred years, so that's no reason to say something like…something so melodramatic!" Ludwig scoffed jadedly, and shook his head.

"You don't understand. I don't _have_ an empire. I'm not like Spain or England or the others. An Empire is _all that I am_. I don't have my own land, or my own people, I have the people and the land of many others. The day that nations like Austria and Prussia and Savoy decide to leave my dominion is the day I cease to exist. And if the ache in my bones and the itch in my blood are any indication, that day is not so far off as you want to believe." He turned as he spoke, and with the last word, collapsed back to his former place on the military cot.

"That's… but…"

"So here is my thinking, Romano." The Empire drawled, and his voice was toneless and languid. "What would be the best for your brother? In my cowardice, he has lost me already once. Is it better to keep away, let him wonder and wait and maybe grow to hate me, or to return now, and let him watch as I waste away?" Romano's heart ached with sympathy, for his brother and even for this foolish, failing Empire. He wondered what he would do in Ludwig's place and found he did not know. But as it was… as Feli's brother….

"I see him reeling from the first loss even now. Even when you have been gone a century he still cries… I would not see him go through such a thing twice."

"I thought as much." The Empire nodded. Though he sat in a crumpled heap on a mess of blankets, he had a hardness of will that made him seem stately and strong. "Now that we understand each other we have only to decide what to do about it." Romano bit his tongue, sat down next to the empire he maybe, _maybe_, might have grown to respect, and proceeded to do just that.

* * *

><p>edit: so the first time I posted this I forgot to add translations... -_-<p>

I'll leave out most curse words-they're pretty obvious. Please beware that the only languages in this story I actually speak are English and Spanish. and even then, I often make mistakes. so if you find a problem with what translation I've come up with, corrections are greatly encouraged!

_Fratellino_- little brother (Italian).

_Römische Italien- _Roman Italy (German)

_Italia Romana- _Roman Italy (Latin)

_Ist alles in Ordnung, Ludwig?_ -Is everything okay, Ludwig?(German)

_Ja, es ist in Ordnung. Danke.- _Yes, It's fine. Thanks. (German)

_Stai Zitto- _Shut up! (Italian)

_mi cariño- _My little dear one. (Spanish)


	3. Resource Exhaustion

Hi all! Short-ish chapter this time. :3 Bear with me please!

Still stuck as to what to do with chapter 5... . I've already got scenes from chapter 7 written tho... CURSE YOU ROMANO AND YOUR NON-LINEAR PLOT BUNNIES!

anyway, there's your sign that I'm sleep deprived.

Happy reviews=happy author=ability to write

Love you all!

* * *

><p>Though he complained to all who would listen (and some who wouldn't) that he really, <em>really <em>hated traveling, especially in winter and especially for _over a week_, the truth was that he was glad for the small respite his traveling allowed him. He was completely alone in his borrowed carriage. No regular humans had begged passage at any of the myriad of villages they stopped in. The footman knew his job and just who it really was he was driving, and so he kept his tongue. It was terribly boring, and on the way there he'd cursed his luck the entire way. Now, however, he was glad for the cold, wintery silence. It gave him all the time he needed to sit and think over the mess he'd just left, and the one he was undoubtedly about to step into back in Vienna.

Romano and the Holy Roman Empire had tossed out barely a plan between them in the scarce hours before things started moving again and Ludwig's sergeant came to warn them that they were nearly out of time. He had departed from the Holy Roman Empire's camp almost as clueless as he had been before he entered, with only two letters to show for his troubles. The first was addressed to Austria. That jerk Ludwig had handed it to him with little ceremony and very calmly stated that it would stop Austria pushing for a territorial exchange. He had not seen the fool write it, so it must have been finished long before Romano's arrival. Whatever it was, it was evidently not Romano's concern, as the Holy Roman Empire had coolly informed him.

_"You know, sending a letter back for Austria like this is going to make Feli wonder why you didn't send him one too…" _Romano had protested, glaring. To his annoyance, the empire merely grinned back.

_"That was the idea wasn't it?" _It took a while for him to get over his initial urge to stand up and _brain_ the fool empire for his callousness, but he realized that the blond had been right. Making Feli jealous was a surefire way to make him resentful. And that was what they wanted, right? Still, it felt very decidedly wrong. It was hurting Feliciano on purpose to spare him a worse hurt in the future. He knew it was what they had decided to do, but he didn't like it. Truthfully, he probably would have tried harder to change the Empire's mind if it weren't for the second letter.

That second letter… It was something altogether completely unexpected. He'd been about to protest When Ludwig handed over the second envelope, because he was _not_ a goddamn delivery service, and—and then he'd caught sight of the name on its front. He couldn't _not _see it. It was emblazoned now as if by fire on the backs of his eyes. Even in the shadowed carriage he could still make out the word _Lovino_, scrawled across its envelope in sprawling, spidery script. Romano bit his lip as he fingered the rough paper edges. He trailed his unsure fingers across the familiar wax seal with its crest and eagle, his heart pounding like a hummingbird's in his chest. He'd know that penmanship anywhere. He was terrified and ecstatic all at once.

"_What… How…?" _He remembered sputtering as the Holy Roman Empire smiled smugly back. To the passer-by it wasn't really anything special; just a regular, unassuming letter. But simply from the sight of it, he'd been overtaken by a confusion and disbelief that probably still hadn't left his face. It just didn't make sense—that swooping yet jagged penmanship could only belong to Antonio, but all communication had been banned to him these past three years. In part, by the very nation who was handing it to him now. They didn't want Spain and South Italy passing sensitive information back and forth or plotting behind everyone's backs, after all. "_Why are you giving this to me?" _was the question he finally settled on out of the hundreds of others floating through his head. And the Empire simply shrugged, as if he didn't care that he might be committing treason against his own states.

"_The Holy Roman Empire and Spain have been having a series of misunderstandings of late, but as I understand it Gilbert and Antonio are friends. Are they not?" _It was as simple as that. Romano knew when to let well enough alone. He'd snatched his letter and clutched it to his chest with greedy hands, afraid that the Empire would come to his senses and take the thing back somehow. It wasn't until about half a day's ride down the road that he realized the seal had been disturbed at some point, and he knew that Prussia or the Holy Roman Empire must have scanned it for any kind of suspicious communication. Initially, the thought had him ready to turn right back to the warfront and shout at the blonde for such an invasion of privacy but very quickly, he realized the futility of it. Besides, far better to have his mail read by the enemy than to be unable to talk to Antonio at all.

He'd poised the letter to open once he finally realized that it was really _his_ and it couldn't be taken away, slipped one finger behind the flap of the envelope to tear at the slightly misshapen, overly complicated seal, and froze. If their opponents had read and okayed it, then it obviously couldn't be anything he hoped it to be. It couldn't be a desperate message re-assuring him that Spain was coming for him, and soon, with all his armies. It wasn't an escape plan, or help from afar. So that left an important question….

What was it?

And there, Romano's nerve left him, and he sat the letter, unopened, back in its place on his lap. He'd spent so long dreaming of the day he'd get to talk to that idiot again, hoping to hear from him… he'd wanted a miracle. In the face of all that wasted dreaming, this letter didn't look like much. What if it was only a few idiotic sentences, simply tossed out because Antonio was bored, or something? Or, worse, what if it said that Antonio _couldn't_ come? What if it said Antonio was hurt, or his economy was in trouble, or he just didn't feel enough like hurting Feli to get to him. Or maybe, worst of all….

What if Antonio had decided that he just didn't care any longer?

He nearly hit himself for the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. He remembered the desperate timbre of Antonio's voice on the day they'd been dragged apart—the ache in his unearthly green eyes, humiliated, lonely, distraught… he'd lived with Spain far too long _not_ to know that the nation truly cared. It was a betrayal of faith to think anything differently! And yet, the doubt still crept insidious though the back door of his heart, paralyzing him every time he moved to tear the damned envelope open.

He spend so long thinking and worrying himself sick about it that he forgot all about his other dilemmas. The thoughts of empire, death, love and right left him to his piteous wallowing, and did not return for some time. It wasn't until he finally pulled into Austria's long drive and caught sight of the slip-thin form of his brother waiting for him that they sprang back, with all the forcefulness and pain of a bowstring. He floundered and panicked for those few, existence-altering seconds as the carriage stopped, his brother stepping closer. Evidently he meant to ride with them the rest of the way up the drive. It was all Romano could do to hurriedly stuff the letter into his breast pocket, crumpling it messily as he did so.

"_Fratello!" _The brunette chimed as he cast the carriage door open and stepped inside. Behind him, the driver had dismounted and was attempting to help Feliciano into the cab, but the younger Italian was quite ahead of him. "I missed you!" and Romano was rather suddenly whisked away by a flurry of awkward limbs and theatrical tears, the grouchy footman closing the door behind them and heading back to the reigns. Just as Hungary had assured him, there didn't seem to be a drop of jealousy left in his brother's body.

"I wasn't even gone a month, dork," Romano doled out half-heartedly, but his usual venom was absent. He'd only just managed to get the letter out of sight when Feli had burst in, and for some reason it had shaken him. They may have been brothers, but somehow he didn't think it was something Feliciano could allow him to keep. He was too far under Austria's control. The thought sobered him quickly. "What were you thinking, standing out there waiting on a day like today? It's freezing. Not to mention there's a war on," he fussed, noting the chill-reddened skin of Feliciano's face, the shivers threading his body. Lovino frowned. "How long were you waiting anyway?" Feli's careless shrug only worried him further.

"It's not like the cold will kill me. Used to be we _lived _outside on days like these, remember?" He had the strangest sense that he was being led off track. The furrow between his brows deepened.

"How long?" he persisted. The brightness of Feliciano's smile dimmed, ever so slightly. There were rings around his eyes. Had those been there before?

"Since last night sometime?" He said it quietly, as if that would make the action itself less troublesome. Romano swore and drew his stupid brother into as tight an embrace as he could manage. Without his shock to blind him to it, he could feel just how thin Feli's clothes were, how violent his shaking. He felt like _ice_. Just holding him like this was enough to have Romano shivering too.

"_Santa Maria, Madre di Dio... Devi essere un imbecile! Che diavolo stavi pensando?_" Feliciano had no answer, apparently content to let Romano rant until he was out of air. He had twisted his hands in the fabric of Lovino's shirt and was currently staring at them with odd fascination. His grip seemed far too feeble. Romano hugged tighter, trying desperately to transfer what little body heat he could give. "_Feli, questo è grave! E la tua gente?_ You can't _do_ things like this, idiot. You know that!"

"Ve, I know, it was just… I couldn't sleep." He drawled, sing-song. His cheeriness was persistent despite the way his teeth chattered between words. Romano growled and began a new string of curses in every language he knew. "Wow, Roma. Does Brother Spain let you talk like that? I don't know what that last word meant, but I said it in front of Austria once and he didn't let me have pasta for a week!" He jumped at the mention of his favorite idiot, as he always did. Desperately he tried not to think about the letter burning like a brand against his heart or the sound of Spain's stupid laugh. Antonio was the one who had taught him to curse in the first place, wasn't he? It was such an eternity ago…

And then, with a start, he realized he'd been distracted. Romano twisted awkwardly to glare at his brother, eyes narrowed with suspicion. That little anecdote had been slightly silly and perfectly normally airheaded. Still, he was paranoid now that Feli was purposely leading him astray. Feliciano knew enough to understand how even the mention of Spain affected him. He normally never brought Antonio up, just as Romano avoided speaking of Feli's precious Empire. His little brother's uncharacteristic deviousness only made him more determined to see this conversation through to the end.

"You couldn't sleep, so you wandered out to the end of Austria's property and waited in the cold all night and half the day besides? Feliciano, that is far too small a reason. Even for you." There was a sad sigh against the bare skin of his neck, the feel of Feli burying his cold face in the fabric at Romano's shoulder. Their carriage suddenly hit a rut in the road and the whole contraption jumped with a furious clatter. Romano imagined that maybe it was the sound of Feli's mask finally shattering.

"I'm glad that you're back," were the words spoken into his collarbone, mumbled and weary. Somehow he still managed to hear them, despite the creaking of the carriage wheels and the plodding _clop_ of horse-hooves.

"Feli… what happened?" He was very close to panicking. He could swear he felt the damp warmth of tears slowly seeping through his shirt.

"Venice isn't doing well, I think. Everything hurts." Romano blinked in surprise, and then all suspicion and resentment flitted away and he was in full protective older brother mode.

"Idiot! If the fighting is that bad, you should be in bed! Not standing out here in the middle of nowhere making yourself even weaker." He growled, irritable in his worry. He'd been at Feliciano's side when Venice had lost the Morea to the Turks earlier in the year. He still remembered the sounds Feli had made, halfway between choking and screaming, when the evidence of that loss had carved itself slowly into his back… It had terrified him then, and even now the memory of it sent him into a fear-filled craze. Without stopping to think about it, Lovino checked every inch of skin he could see for the tell-tale slashes of too much death and lost land. There wasn't enough bared to him to be really sure, but he couldn't feel the dampness of blood pervading their embrace. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion of war that made Feli ache? Before he gave up looking, he untwisted the hands tangled in his coat, still careful to avoid crinkling the letter folded against his breast where Feli might hear it. They were gloveless and shaking, covered in a multitude of tiny cuts and red with the beginnings of frost bite. "_Merda!" _

"I know… but being out here with the animals and the plants… it makes me feel better. It helps me remember when things were easier." He sounded so terribly weak now, collapsed against Romano as the elder of the two tried to rub frozen skin back to life. "Besides, the cold makes everything wonderfully painless. Maybe this way I could just… fall asleep." He sounded like he might already be drifting.

"Feli, you are not to fall asleep until we get inside, do you hear me?" Lovino felt nearly sick with rage and helplessness. Why hadn't anyone noticed that his little brother was in such a pitiful state? Why hadn't they sent him to bed or tried to help him? And _Dio_, how had Feli ever survived without him all those years he was away in Spain?

He felt suddenly guilty.

"Don't worry, I won't. I know how to be strong when it matters," Feliciano mumbled on, his violent shivers slowly subsiding. "I know I seem weak and useless most of the time, but if… if I just try harder, I know I could be…" He trailed off, and Romano almost thought he'd fallen asleep for real until those liquid-amber eyes were quite suddenly staring into his own. Feli's face was far too close and streaked with quickly frosting tears. "You saw him, right? You know how strong he is. Do you think if I somehow beat the Turks, I'll have enough power to matter to him again? Do you think—" Feliciano interrupted himself with a weak sob. It was all Romano could do to pull him back into their embrace, clutching his brother almost violently, as if he could squeeze all the anguish away with the cold. He felt like the bottom had fallen out of the world, his stomach sinking. This was what he'd spoken of in the shadows of an officer's tent. This was the choice he had made, plotting with the Empire: to break all of Feli's hopes, because the alternative was worse.

Wasn't it?

"What does that bastard matter?" Romano snarled, all his anger and frustration finally frothing over. "Why do you care about him at all? He _left_, Feli. He's _gone_." He expected his brother to fight him—to struggle away from his grasping hands and vehemently defend his dear Empire, with all his usual, pitiful devotion. But Feliciano didn't do that. He didn't even tense. It was as if he'd already expected the words, had already resigned himself to them.

"I know," he sighed, Confirming Romano's fears and slumping further against his chest. The elder brunette felt the beginnings of panic rising in his throat. Feli was just too quiet, too accepting. It wasn't _right._ "I knew that from the beginning. I watched him stomp away all those years ago and I _knew_ it would be the last time."

"Then why wait for him? Why stand here hoping for someone who is never going to come?" He protested, his preconceptions shattered. He'd thought if he could only convince Feliciano that the Empire would never return, it would be easier to make him forget… but if the dork really felt this way… what was he supposed to do now? Back in the military camp, keeping the Empire away had seemed undoubtedly to be the right choice. Surely to watch Ludwig die would _kill _Feli. He still thought it might. Only now, with his brother's pain staring him plainly in the face he wasn't so sure that Feli wasn't already dying of loneliness.

"I told him I'd wait, didn't I?" Feliciano tried to laugh in answer, but it echoed discordant and terrible against the sound of his crying. "Even if he hates me, even if he _forgets_ me… I can't stop my hoping. I just can't, Roma." There was a soft sort of yearning in his voice that made Romano feel as if his _own_ heart had broken. He was begging, pleading to be understood. And the horror of it was, Romano _did_ understand. He wished that he couldn't. "I gave up trying to figure out why he's not coming back, because… well it doesn't matter, does it? I'll wait no matter what. I'm too stupid and weak to do anything else."

"Feli, that's not true." He thought, privately, that his brother wasn't weak at all, and wondered why it had taken this long to see it. Maybe he should have said as much aloud, but he didn't exactly want to encourage this self-destructive, selfless sort of strength. He didn't want to see his little brother tear himself down like this either though.… Romano gnawed the inside of his cheek, tightening his grip. He was speechless with his own indecision.

"It's the silence that's the worst." Feli continued, as though he hadn't heard Lovino's weak attempt at consolation. "All this waiting with no news except what I can gather from history itself, and even there I know Austria and big sister Hungary try to keep things from me." He looked up again, his eyes filled with so much wasted wishing. Romano tried to look away, but he could not. He wanted desperately to be able to block all this out, to somehow stop the question he knew was coming. "Did… did he say anything about me when you saw him?"

_Merda._ What on earth was the best way to answer? What was _right_? Feliciano's stare was unwavering and so brokenly hopeful. He felt like an absolute monster for closing his eyes and turning away, but what could he say? _Yes, Feli, you were all he talked about. All he thought about. He loves you so much that he can't bear the sight of you. _Somehow, he didn't think it would go over well.

"Please, Romano you can't possibly hurt me with the answer. No matter what it is! I just… Does he look any older? Is he feeling tired? Is he lonely?" He was whispering now, but Romano was straining so hard to hear that he couldn't have missed a single word. "Please, Roma. Austria never answers when I ask, and I _know_ something's not right. I feel like I'm going crazy knowing nothing like this, _please—_!"

The carriage finally rolled to a stop on the last, most desperate word, and two things saved Romano from having to answer. First was the sound of pounding feet on the flagstones outside, and the glimpse through the curtains and glass of Hungary's many skirts, her long hair flying as she shouted her way towards them.

The second was that, all his energy spent, Feli had finally passed out in his arms.

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

Only thing that really needs it is Roma's rant. XD

_Santa Maria, Madre di Dio... Devi essere un imbecile! Che diavolo stavi pensando? _Feli, questo è grave! E la tua gente?- __Holy Mary Mother of God... You must be an idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Feli, this is serious! What about your people?


	4. Chain of Command

Uuuuuugh.  
>So, between my computer crashing, my Advisor in college deciding to FAIL, my sister's cat getting pregnant, and a whole slew of other things, I FINALLY got this chapter out! Yay!<br>Aaaaand, this is the end of the pre-written stuff…. I'm on writier's block from here out. Help me out please. T_T Encouraging reviews and even helpful suggestions are greatly appreciated.  
>I've gotten quite a few reviewers commenting that they liked how historical I try to keep things. :3 I'm glad you all can appreciate my nerd-dom. LOL.<p>

Anyway, onward!  
>Don't own, don't sue, etc.<p>

* * *

><p>"Romano! Thank heavens you're back," Hungary was yelling loud enough to be heard even though the door was still shut tight. Romano was too busy trying to shake his brother awake and too petrified with worry to appreciate her lung capacity. "You've got to help me look for little Ita, I can't find him anywhere and I don't think—<em>Ó, istenem<em>." She cut herself off, blinking in surprise once she'd torn the door open.

"Hungary I don't know what to do! I think he froze himself to death." Romano was nothing short of frantic, his brown eyes wide and pleading. Elizaveta didn't allow her shock or horror to paralyze her. She took one look at the Italies, wrested Feli into her arms and out of the carriage with one swift motion, and was already marching back to the house before Lovino remembered to breathe again. He almost tripped over his own feet trying to scramble after her.

"Calm down, Romano. He's not dead, he's just far too tired," was what she said, but he thought she was moving awfully quickly for someone who was telling him to be calm. Feliciano looked so fragile and small, cradled in her strong arms. "_Ó, te idióta fiú, _Feli_... _What are you thinking, going off on your own when things are like this? I worried over you all day! Even Austria kept asking me where you were." She babbled to his sleeping form, climbing the front steps with ease despite her extra burden. Romano tried to rush ahead and get the door for her, but she already had it open before he could reach it. He felt the old bitter resentment beginning in the depths of his soul, and quickly quashed it. He could be jealous of the strength of others and stew over his own uselessness when Feli was safe for certain.

Hungary wheeled through the many corridors and empty rooms of Austria's house, racing towards the Italies' shared room on the second floor of the East wing. Romano followed her all the way, listening to her mindless crooning and scolding to distract himself from the stiffness of his legs. The trip from the Empire's hideout had not been an extremely short one, after all. And running through the mansion after sitting all day made him feel like he might trip and lay splayed and panting at the first uneven floorboard or wrinkled carpet. Somewhat miraculously, he managed to avoid that fate.

"Just look at you, covered in rime! What were you doing, rolling on the ground? Honestly, Feli sometimes I wonder how you—_Roderich_!" she interrupted herself mid sentence to call, and Romano jumped about three feet in the air. "_I found them both!"_ He had no idea what clue she had been looking for to start shouting, nor how she expected to be heard; they were a floor and two wings away from the Main hall where Austria most likely was. Nevertheless, her voice resounded through every part of the house, clear as the peal of a bell. The sound of an extra pair of footsteps, probably Austria running to catch up, was soon to follow. Romano stared. "What?" she snapped at his slack-jawed look without pausing in her stride. He shut his mouth and kept walking.

"Where was he?" Austria blurted when he finally found them, just as they'd made it to the correct door. Unlike his supposed servant, he was panting quite heavily. Elizaveta's brow was lightly furrowed with concern, but she had not so much as broken a sweat.

"Ask Romano, they pulled up in the carriage together." She never stopped moving as she talked, shifting Feliciano in her arms as she needed to turn the door knob. Once inside, she laid the small form on his bed and started finding and sorting what she needed with soldier-like efficiency. Fresh clothes and blankets and bandages were produced from, what seemed to Romano's frazzled mind, absolutely nowhere. And then she set to stripping Feli's shirt off without so much as a by-your-leave to anyone else in the room. "Please don't stand there like brainless fools. Romano, light the hearth and make some hot coals for the bedwarmer. Roderich, boil some water." Maybe if they'd been in their right minds, and not so frantic over the state of the too-thin, shivering form on the bed, they'd have protested her bossiness. As it was, they couldn't move to complete her demands fast enough. They scrambled to find the tools they needed, Austria storming back the way he'd come and Romano sifting through the untidy room for bellows, poker and shovel. Hopefully the last embers hadn't quite died yet.

About twenty minutes later found Lovino standing alone and worried in the hall, kicked out of Feli's room by an irate Hungary after he'd nearly set himself on fire. Usually, Elizaveta was kind enough to understand his complete inability to do even the easiest of household chores, and to realize that he was also tired from traveling and therefore clumsy. Right now, she was apparently not in the mood to be understanding. It was a fact that only made Romano more certain that Feli wasn't ok at all, and that he'd been somehow irreversibly damaged by the war or the cold. He was hyperventilating, completely convinced that his _fratellino_ was dying, by the time Austria was kicked out behind him.

"—and I'll fix you up later. God. _Seriously,_ Roderich? How did you manage to—" Her usually pleasant voice faded out as Austria pulled the door closed. His hands were positioned awkwardly and he had handled the knob with nothing but the crook of his wrist.

"What happened?"

"I forgot to use a potholder." The older nation looked nothing like the imperious man who'd ordered him around not three weeks before. Austria slumped next to Romano on the hard-wood floor, seeming disoriented. His palms looked red and raw even in the dim light of the hallway, and he was staring at them as if they had somehow betrayed him. He'd never been a very absent-minded person, and to Romano he'd always seemed so put-together and dignified that the simple explanation was hard to believe.

"… Really?" he found himself asking despite his usual wariness of the man. He was met with a heated glare for his inquiry.

"Apparently," Austria grumbled before balling both hands into fists and folding his arms across his chest. Lovino winced with sympathetic pain. He knew it must have hurt something awful to fold the tender skin that way, but the only sign of weakness Roderich allowed himself was a sharp inhalation of breath. He seemed determined to pretend that his airheaded mistake with the boiling pot had never happened. Well, so much the better. Romano didn't like feeling any sympathy for the man who'd taken him away from Spain anyway. "I take it that the Empire didn't listen to my suggestion?"

"What are you—oh." It took a moment for the meaning to register. He'd been so worried about Feli that he'd completely forgotten the original purpose of his journey. He remembered with a jolt the letter tucked into his meager luggage, which he'd unthinkingly left in the carriage. And _that_ made him remember the second letter. Suddenly it felt hot and painful against his skin. He only just resisted patting it to ease the feeling. It wouldn't have been a good idea with Austria's eyes so carefully trained on him. "No—I mean, yes, right. He didn't listen." Romano floundered, flustered by the change of subject and his own paranoia. As soon as he was dismissed, and he could be sure Feli was fine, he resolved he would rush to the attic and read Spain's missive. No matter _what_ it might say. Then he could burn the evidence and have done with all of it. "He sent a letter back to explain. I left it in the carriage."

Austria didn't seem nearly as worried over his Empire's disobedience as Romano had thought he'd be. He simply shook his head, sighing.

"Leave it." He commanded, but the words sounded tired. "It probably says nothing I don't already know." Ordinarily, Romano would agree. Austria ruled enough of the Empire's affairs on his own to know the situation for its entirety. But he seriously doubted that Roderich knew of Ludwig's suspicions—the dry and dismal fact that the Empire was falling into a decline with nothing but death at the end to meet him. If he had known, he'd probably have the teen whisked away to be protected and carefully watched, regardless of any protests, threats, or the official hierarchy of their respective states. Of course, if Romano could predict Austria's reaction, there was no reason to think that the Empire couldn't. In all likelihood, he'd written nothing so damning as the hard reality in his letter.

"…Probably," he assented, finally, but his tone was bitter and caused Austria to look at him in speculation. He decided to keep his mouth shut; the Empire's business was his own. And besides, if he said something to Austria, Feli might hear of it later, and he wasn't really sure how his little brother might take that sort of thing. Especially now when he was apparently delirious from the war. Worse—Austria might get it in his fool head to force the Empire back here, and then Feli would have to watch the person he loved slowly, painfully, slip away. It was the very situation he'd been working to avoid! So when Roderich raised a questioning, aristocratic brow, Romano looked away. Even if he was half-tempted to leak the truth out of spite.

"Was he… Was he well?" Austria finally broke the silence to ask, though it obviously hurt his pride to do so. He almost appeared to be fighting with himself—his disinterested air contradicted by his earnest voice. Lovino couldn't school his features in time to hide his wince. Of course the elder nation caught it, and of course he would press insistently on. "What happened, Romano?" His tone was hardened steel. The Italian cursed his luck and tried to figure out a way to lie without arousing further suspicion.

"You've got him fighting as a foot-soldier on the front lines, what do you _think_ happened?" The best lies were half-truth, Romano had learned. He twisted more contempt into his expression and pretended he was indignant on the Empire's behalf. Surprisingly, the emotions weren't that hard to force. "He's cut up and exhausted. Why you had him out there in the first place, I have no idea." Austria's face was white, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I didn't put him there, Romano." The admission seemed to have drained something from him, and his shoulders sagged, his perfect posture ruined.

"Didn't you?" He was going for imperiously disbelieving, but really only wound up sounding curious. Honestly, he'd figured as much himself—the Empire didn't look like he was fighting for anyone's sake but his own, and enjoying it as much as such a thing can be enjoyed. Even so, Lovino hadn't known what else to make of the situation. Austria's usual arrogance and influence made him seem capable of bullying the Empire out of any stupid decision he could possibly make, so why...?

It wasn't a sin to be nosy, right? Maybe Feli would know. He could say several rosaries later if it came to that.

"If I had any say in what that obstinate fool did, don't you think he'd be in this house with the rest of us?" It was something that troubled Austria deeply, if the weary annoyance in his expression were to be believed. "It's bad enough that he's technically above me, but if I try to force him to do anything or persuade the Emperor that the dolt should be with me, he'll just get _Prussia_ to speak on his behalf." When he said white-haired nation's name, it sounded like a curse. Romano had to stop himself from cringing away from the pure venom his captor exuded. "And when I try to convince Gilbert that the Empire needs to be at _least_ away from battle, if not near to me, he acts serious for about a day and then comes back to tell me some nonsense about all of us growing up fighting in wars and it building character. I don't know if he's talking to Ludwig about it, failing to convince him of anything and just feeding me excuses or….." He trailed off suddenly and eyed Romano again, as if he'd been speaking to himself and only just realized he had an audience. "No. I didn't put him there." Romano nodded, eyes wide, and they sat there in uncomfortable silence for a time.

"…'cut up and exhausted', you said?" It was not anything Austria would have allowed himself to press for normally. Perhaps the pain in his hands was troubling him more than he was ready to admit. Romano gnawed his cheek and tried to determine the best answer.

"He tried to hide it, but he had bandages up his back and on his hands, bags beneath his eyes." And that was as much as he dared to say without Roderich catching wise. The musician turned away and actually cursed with so much fury that he half-feared he'd said the wrong thing after all, and that Austria would be setting out to drag the Empire home before the day was out.

"I _told_ him to stay out of harm's way as much as he could. Of course I knew he wouldn't listen but Gilbert promised…" He sighed, looking utterly defeated again. "He's so stubborn. I suppose I should have known he'd end up like that. It was stupid to hope he'd listen to that _buffoon_ any more than he'd listen to me." He shook his head, made a move as if to cover his face with one hand before wincing and thinking better of it. Lovino very nearly felt sorry for him. Maybe. A little bit. He could at least understand the kind of hurt that came with worrying over your loved ones from afar.

"For what it's worth, he also seemed happy where he was. And I think there are others there, to take care of him if you can't. They're only human, but they're good people. He'll be ok on his own." It hurt to say. Because, honestly, he wasn't thinking of the Empire. He was thinking of Antonio. When he'd left, he'd left Spain freshly wounded and crying, and it had nearly _killed _him inside. What he told Austria was merely a modified version of the mantra he'd created to stop himself going insane with worry.

Roderich's gaze flashed to him, intent violet in the dim light, staring as the last words hung in the air. It was almost as if he were just seeing Romano for the first time. Then he breathed again, a slow, drawn out exhalation, and slumped further against the wall at his back.

"I am sorry, Romano." It was the last thing he'd ever expected to spill from the bastard's mouth, and he was astonished out of all powers of speech to hear it now. "This burden we carry, it makes things so complicated. If I did not have to worry about land and economy, if I could pretend for a day that we were nothing but human, I would not keep you here." He swallowed, emotional despite himself. Romano thought he must have been dreaming up all the other things he might do if they were normal, and not nations at all. Whatever was in those dreams must have hurt him, for he sat hunched over, cringing away from what he couldn't have. That, or he'd just jostled one of his still-clenched fists. "But the truth of it is we _are_ nations, and I cannot help you. I am sorry for that." He was watching some shadow play of a time past, or perhaps one that had never happened at all. Romano didn't know. And he didn't care, because at that moment, a wave of anger washed over him stronger than he could bear.

He didn't want to hear that Austria was sorry. "Sorry" couldn't make anything better. It couldn't make them age like normal people, or erase the hurt and disorientation that came when bosses and governments changed, or take away the scars from war and border disputes. It didn't banish the shadows that haunted Antonio's face when anyone said the world "colony", or fix the mess that had sprung up and separated Feliciano and Ludwig. It couldn't send Romano home. Just who did Austria think he was to apologize for all of it, anyway? He wasn't some kind of god, picking and choosing their fates, deigning that they should exist as nations. And maybe he _was_ just trying to make up for his actions against them in the last war, but if so it was an empty, feckless attempt. He apologized for keeping Romano, but not for taking him. Lovino hadn't forgotten the raw, jealous hurt in Roderich's eyes that day either—he was smart enough to know that he'd been used as a pawn to get back at Spain. Maybe for the failed union of the Hapsburg house. Maybe for something else he was too stupid and forgetful to know about. Perhaps Austria felt regret for that now, but it mattered very little. His apology mattered less.

Romano was seething, so full of anger that he couldn't speak. He bit his lips and held his breath and tried his hardest not to explode into a tear-filled, insensible tirade that could only start with Austria and dissolve into useless railing against the whole world. He wanted to scream, to lash out at everything and not worry about repercussions or what anyone else would think. But even like that, with his emotions running high and his blood roaring in his ears, he was too frightened to do so. Only three years, three years in this accursed place, and he'd conformed to its rules, grown used its oppression. He was ineffably angry with Austria for reducing him to such a sniveling state, and equally irritated with himself for falling to it. He'd never been this cowardly and subservient to Spain, not even in the beginning. Why was he so quiet here in Austria's house? Why bother bowing down to the powers that held him? Why not fight tooth and nail for even the _semblance_ of independence? He glared, took a deep breath, made up his mind to tell Austria in no uncertain terms exactly what he could do with his apology—

"Romano, please take these down to the washroom," Hungary opened the door to demand, before tossing Feli's clothes at him. He had to scramble to catch the fabric before it hit him in the face. All of it was cold and wet, the frost having melted in their slowly warming bedroom. His hands were numb within seconds of holding it, and it only brought his fear for his brother closer to the forefront of his mind.

"Is Feli alri—"

"Yes, dear. He'll be just fine. Let him rest." She smiled warmly, and waved him off with a pointed look. "Now, Roderich let me see your hands. I've got Feli wrapped up enough that he should be—" She stopped to gasp. Perhaps she'd only just gotten a good look at the burns. Romano had better sense than to stay and find out. He was already storming in the opposite direction, toward the laundry and the solace of his own company. Feliciano would be fine. Hungary had said it, so it must be true. It had to be. Just like Antonio had to be fine. He made it out of earshot and started running, barely pausing to throw his brother's clothes into the washroom before turning and racing up the servants' stair to the attic. Feliciano was asleep, and Roderich and Elizaveta occupied. There would be no better time than this to read Spain's letter.

He ignored the mess of lost artifacts and old keepsakes around him and headed straight for the tiny window toward the back. It didn't let in that much light, but it would be enough to read by. He had to get this over with and stop stewing about it. Feli was right. Maybe it was not knowing anything that was the worst. If Spain was hurt or even… even if he didn't want Romano anymore, then at least he would _know_. Besides, hearing his little brother talk had set the guilt roiling uneasy in his stomach. Feli had begged him for a scrap of news, anything at all, about his loved one. Now Romano had information of his own, held in his sweating palms… what kind of monster would he be to waste that opportunity now?

Even with these arguments running though his head, it didn't stop him from hesitating, ever so briefly, before he tore the fine paper. He picked up the too-thin slip inside with uncharacteristic reverence, heart racing. He held his breath, opened his eyes and read.

_Carísimo Lovi,_

_¿Cómo estás, mi cariñito__? As for me, I am alright. I know you have been very worried about me, (You're probably denying it right now. So cute, Lovi!) but I am doing well enough if you discount how much it hurts to be away from you. I didn't think it was possible to go on living when one's heart is so far away but apparently it is._

_I know it was cruel of me not to write you before now, and believe me I've been trying. I tried sneaking letters through the trade routes for months, but somehow Austria's people always found them. Gilberto finally got fed up with me pining after you; he said he would make sure you got this letter as long as I didn't put anything "seditionist" in it. (I think Austria's been using big words on him again.) If he keeps his promise, it _might_ make up for holding you at sword-point. _

_Maybe._

_Not really. No, sorry, Gil I'm still mad at you._

_Anyway, he's waiting on me to finish writing so this has to be quick. Te amo, mi pequeño tomate. I promise I will come for you as soon as I can. (And that's not a seditious statement because everyone already knows it.) _

_Mantente seguro, mi corazón. No hagas nada estúpido._

_~Antonio Fernandez Carriedo_

"I wasn't worried, bastard." he grumbled to no one, crumpling the expensive scrap of paper with little ceremony. If the jerk were here in front of him right now, he'd complain. He'd ask why half of the way-too-short letter seemed to be written to Prussia and not to him. He'd decry all the soppy nicknames, snort at Antonio's silly, melodramatic pining, and call Spain out for being completely ineffective at espionage. But Antonio wasn't here, and that was the problem. Romano didn't see the point in wasting his breath on the dust of Austira's attic. He'd just have to wait until Spain came to get him and complain then. Because even if the letter was completely stupid and incomprehensible, he'd gotten enough out of it to know that Spain was really, really coming. Spain was coming and he was ok and he still, he still said he lov—

There was no one to see him smooth the parchment back out over his knee, clutch the precious few words reverently to his chest and pretend like he wasn't crying in relief.

* * *

><p>Again, Warnings to all—I speak English (mostly) Spanish (Kind of) and Japanese (barely). Any other languages are a shot in the dark. -_- I try my best to use common sense, google, and babelfish to come up with a credible translation for everything else. If you see a mistake, please point it out! I'm sure there are many.<br>1._ Ó, istenem-_(Hungarian) Oh my god.

2. _Ó, te idióta fiú-_(Hungarian) Oh, you stupid boy

3. Spain's letter: (Obviously, it's all in Spanish…)

_Carísimo Lovi-_ Dearest Lovi

_¿Cómo estás, mi cariñito__?-_ How are you, my little affection? (Spanish endearment. It doesn't work well in English…)

_Te amo, mi pequeño tomate.- _I love you, my little tomato.

_Mantente seguro, mi corazón. No hagas nada estúpido.-_ Stay safe, my heart. Don't do anything stupid.


	5. Outbreak of Conflict

Hi guys.

Headed out to Clossalcon tomorrow~ I'm sooo excited! XD If you're gonna be there, you should drop me a line and let me know. I'll prolly cosplay Ranma(female), Finland, and Elena from FFVIIAC. :3

Anyway, enough nerd gushing and on to the story.

The "battle" this chapter makes reference to is the outbreak of hostility against Austria in August of 1717. Spain sent a fleet and managed to overtake the whole island of Sardinia in just a few months. Probably not as dramatic as it is in my headcannon, but Antonio strikes me as someone who appreciates good theatrics. XD

Not sure I'm happy with this chappy... Lemme know what you think.

3 all of you~

* * *

><p>He would never admit it to anyone, but Spain's letter was probably the only thing that kept him sane for the next few months. No matter how angry or frightened or lonely he got, at least he had that fragment of Antonio. He'd crumpled it up and tried to dispose of it, stuffed it in so many different paranoid hiding places that it was almost completely illegible, but somehow he'd never succeeded in getting rid of it. The mere sight of that stupidly lavish spider-scrawl was enough to make him remember Antonio's dumb laugh, or the green of his eyes, or the smell of his clothes, and he'd forget everything until the outside world saw fit to shake him out of it. Sometimes it was comforting, but sometimes it hurt so much to miss someone like that that he wanted to cry. (But he didn't, because he wasn't that pathetic, damn it. It was dust in his eye.) He hated that he could be so dependent on one person that he got teary-eyed over goddamn <em>handwriting<em>, but somehow he needed this. He needed to feel close, even if it was a lie. He needed to believe that Antonio really did love him, that he really would come. He was willing to concede his pride on that one point.

The only thing he worried about as much as or more than Spain was his baby brother. Feli took forever to get better after his little fainting stint. And even when he was "better" he wasn't completely so. Venice's war had been stretching him thin, and not even Austria's support against the Turks seemed to help. Still, if it had been just that, he might have been okay; there was more to Northern Italy than Venice, after all. Venice was perhaps the core of Feliciano's nationhood, but cultures changed and wars were lost and territory passed hands. The Italian brothers knew that better than most. So even if Feli lost this war, he should have been well enough. Maybe a little worse for wear, but some of his other states were actually doing quite well. Instead, his hidden worries and anguish ate at him from within and made him even weaker. He'd exhausted his physical body to the limit with his idiotic decision to go wandering in the cold, and the war and his emotional distress weren't letting him recover.

Hungary had tended him through the worst of it—sitting by the bedside at night and making sure that his fever never got too high and that blasted doctor hadn't bled him too much, spoon feeding him old get-well broth remedies he hadn't seen her take the time to cook. She was the exact picture of what Romano thought a mother might be… It made Romano feel like a failure in comparison. He couldn't look after his little brother like she could. He was clumsy in his attempts to help, almost more than usual because his earnestness made him nervous. Hungary eventually got tired of his bumbling, and started sending him out of the room instead of asking him to go find this or that, and even took to asking Austria for help instead. Much to Romano's surprise, the musical nation was more than happy to do as she asked. He even started picking up some of the neglected chores, without being asked.

Even if he hated Austria and Hungary for keeping him here, he couldn't deny that they cared very much for his _fratello_. They were more Feli's family than he could ever be. All he had to tie him to his brother was the gut feeling that Feli was his. He just knew. He knew Feliciano like he knew Sicily and Naples—they were Italy. They were the same. They needed each other.

Except maybe they didn't, because Feli had Hungary to mother him and Austria to watch out for him in that strange, reticent way. Romano had nothing to do but watch them all care about each other until he thought he might be sick from it. He spent his nights staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Elizaveta and Feli breathing not ten feet away and wondering why he felt so very alone.

Eventually, the fever went away, and Hungary could go back to her own room at night. The time Feli spent lucid and awake gradually lengthened, his voice less and less broken. Finally, one morning well into spring, Romano woke up to a whirlwind of smiles, excitement, and awkward limbs begging him to come downstairs and help make pasta for breakfast. As if he hadn't just spent the better part of a season laid up in bed. As if he hadn't worried Romano within an inch of his life, or turned the whole household upside down trying to get him better. When Roderich and Elizaveta found them in the kitchen, there was a brief pause where their relief was almost palpable. Then Hungary was back to scolding them away from the stove and Roderich stormed off to his piano, and it seemed like the only person who remembered anything had ever been wrong at all was Romano. It made him feel sick and uneasy—like he was trapped in some kind of illusion, waiting for it all to fall away.

Time kept ticking. The war with Turkey got harder. He knew, not because anyone had bothered to tell him, but because there were days when Austria was too tired to play any music. Because Hungary started picking up the slack and ordering everyone around again. Because there were moments when Feliciano's smile would fall. He would wince and all the air would rush out of him at once, like he'd been hit in the stomach. Romano rushed to his side if he ever saw it happen, because he was pathetic and because Feli was all he had left. He would rub his little brother's shaking back until the spell passed, and wait out the few seconds it took for Feliciano to get himself back under control. Then he kept right on doing whatever it was he'd been focused on before—laundry or scrubbing or slacking—and Romano had to flee from that same, sunny, fake smile before it made him nauseous.

All the while, the Holy Roman Empire's revelations weighed down on him. Had he made the right choice, keeping all of it a secret? Feli seemed determined to pine after his beloved empire; he was going to mourn that loss forever, no matter what Romano said. Ludwig's plan might only wind up hurting him in the end. If Feliciano was so torn up over the Empire's absence, how much would he grieve when the fool finally disappeared for good? Wasn't it cruel to keep them apart now? Wouldn't it be better to let him have even a little time with the person he cared about before the end?

He started working up the courage to break his word and tell his brother everything, but then he'd catch Feli crying in the dark, and get so terrified and furious that he couldn't do it. Terrified, because he remembered the way it felt to hold his _fratellino_, passed out and shivering, in his arms and think for one horrifying eternity of a second that he was going to die. Feli had almost killed his foolish self trying to escape his loneliness, and he'd already had a century to try to recover. How could Romano possibly risk putting him through such a thing twice? All of that fear led inevitably to anger, because it was all so confusing and he didn't want to have to make decisions that put his little brother's happiness on the line. He didn't know enough—wasn't wise enough. He resented the Empire and Feli and all of them for putting this on his shoulders, even if they didn't know they'd done it. Why had it all fallen to him to fix? Weren't Elizaveta and Roderich trying to pose as some kind of parents? He hated that they acted like some fairy-tale family all the time, but they couldn't help Feliciano where it really mattered. He hated that Feliciano was being so pathetic, pining over anyone like this in the first place. He wished the Empire would hurry up and fall already just so that he wouldn't have to worry about the right thing to do any more, and then he caught himself thinking it and hated himself for it, because wouldn't that hurt Feli the most of all…?

He didn't know any of the answers. He just wanted that bastard to hurry up and save him already.

Life marched steadily into the heat of summer, and still nothing seemed to change. Romano's days passed more slowly than ever before. He had nothing to do but watch and wait—bored out of his mind, on edge for every second of it, just praying that something would happen to push the balance of power.

Hungary still tried to give him chores periodically, but he thought she might just be realizing he was completely useless at everything domestic. _Finally._ It had certainly taken her long enough. He was just starting to question her intelligence. She'd only just discovered in three years what Spain had figured out in less than one; it was a lot less trouble for everyone involved to keep Romano as far from all cleaning implements as possible.

Austria didn't often have anything to do with him, if he could help it at all. He never consulted Romano on any decisions regarding Sardinia or Naples, and although that angered him, he couldn't say he hadn't already expected it. Their little impromptu heart-to-heart after Romano's visit to the Empire (which still pissed him off every time he thought about it) was the most conversation he'd ever gotten out of Austria.

Feliciano was the only one in that house who actually sought him out, but he found himself hiding from his brother more often than not. He couldn't stand to watch the way his brother tried to cover all his problems with a smile. There was something so horridly _wrong_ about every ditzy "ve," every eye-closing grin… It was just this feeling Romano had, twisting painfully somewhere near his stomach every time their eyes met. The more his brother smiled and dithered about as if nothing were the matter, the more uneasy he felt. He could see the tears at the edges of Feliciano's façade—the ever-so-light shadows below his eyes, the tired sway in his step. Seeing Feli like that, stumbling with more than his usual clumsiness about the house, trying to do the chores Romano couldn't… It hurt. He wanted to fix it, but he didn't know how, so instead of facing it or confronting Feli, he slipped into the comfortable mask of anger he'd built for himself. He growled, and groused, and tried to avoid his brother like the coward he really was inside. Those stupid, fake smiles made him feel guilty. And that made him resentful, which made him say things he didn't mean, which led to Feli crying at night, and that…. Surely it was just best for everyone if he avoided all of that? He was hiding from his brother, fully embracing this philosophy on the day that the haze finally cleared and the world seemed to start moving once more.

"_Fratello?" _Feli's voice cut through the dust of the attic and shook Romano from his thoughts. He looked frantically about himself, but there was no way to escape without alerting the intruder to his presence. He stuffed the stupid letter he may or may not have been reading for the millionth time, back behind the fabric of his waistband and prayed that maybe Feli would just keep looking elsewhere. He was hunkering down behind his barricade of priceless Austrian junk, preparing to hold his breath for as long as possible… and then he heard a sniffle. Romano froze.

Well… it was kind of dusty in here, after all. Feli had probably stirred some up when he came in. It wasn't like he was actually crying or anything. Still, he was listening for any sign that something might be wrong, his body poised to move _just in case_—"…_Fratello?"_ And did that voice seem to quaver? Romano heard some shuffling—an odd sliding sound that might have been Feli dropping to the floor. Then, ever so quietly, the teeniest, tiniest whimper.  
>It was enough to break Lovino's foolish heart.<p>

"Oi, I'm over here, dork." He griped, doing his best to stop unseen tears. He even crawled out from the shelter of his self-made wall, inching closer to the huddled mess by the door. _Merda_… this was worse than he'd thought. "…Feli?" He tried after a few more minutes of silence. Feliciano hadn't budged, but his thin shoulders shook. Romano's panic was raising ever higher in his throat. "Feli, what's wrong?" another minute shiver.

"Nothing," He mumbled, and the word meant about as much as the dust that covered the floor. "I'm just tired from being so hot all day."He picked his head up from its position at his knees to look at Romano properly; it was streaked with half-wiped tears. This wasn't right. He was used to Feli crying over stupid, small things, but this…

"Why are you lying to me?" He meant to sound stern, but somehow he wound up sounding close to tears himself. Maybe that couldn't be helped. He was supposed to be the one to keep Feli safe; he was the older brother. He was supposed to fight off foreign threats and suitors alike, and keep Feli from crying at all costs but… he'd always been too weak, and maybe Feli had never let him get close enough for that in the first place. Even now, the idiot was pushing him away…He was an emotional cocktail of frustration, anger and worry. He didn't know how to deal with any of this on his own.

"I'm not lying, it's true. Wah~ It's so hot, Roma!" Lovino had to admit, he was a good actor. He probably could have fooled anyone else into thinking that this was one of his usual, crybaby-breakdowns, but the alarm bells were ringing in Romano's head. He didn't know what about it was so wrong, or what reason Feli would have to hide anything from him in the first place. And that just made him more paranoid.

"Whatever," he grouched, but scooted closer to his baby brother all the same, until their shoulders were just pressing together—a wordless attempt at comfort. "Why are people here such wimps? It's really not even warm." Feli sniffled again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. If Austria had seen he'd have been immediately smacked for undignified behavior.

"It is too," he whined, but he curled closer toward Romano all the same. "It's so hot I think I might just die." Romano flinched at the words—had to laugh to cover the way his heart clenched at the thought of Feli dying. He knew the dork hadn't meant it that way, but it wasn't so long ago that he'd thought the worst. He didn't want to even joke about such a thing.

"You northern-types wouldn't last one day in Andalucía," he grumbled once his heart had stopped seizing in his chest. It probably wasn't smart to bring up Spain at a time like this, when he was feeling so tired and harried, but the words had come unbidden.

Feli didn't say anything for a long time. Slowly, his weak smile slipped off, and he let his chin rest on his bent knees. "You know, this attic is probably twice as hot as any other room in the house."

"Yeah…" Romano granted, not sure where this was going. So what if he wanted to be somewhere warm? He'd gotten used to it after…

"But you want to hide here?"

"Shut up, I wasn't hiding!" he lied, his face pink with embarrassment. Feli could probably see through it with ease; their strange connection worked both ways. He wasn't sure why he bothered with the act except that it was a reflex by now.

"It's ok, Roma," That voice was tired, and fraught with childish sorrow again. "You just want to be some place that reminds you of him, right?" Romano jerked as if he'd been shot. For a few moments, it was all he could do to stare at his little brother, wide eyed and frantic. That… that was something he hadn't even been willing to admit to himself yet; he hadn't wanted to know he'd fallen so pathetically far. Then the truth of their situation set in, and he slumped back into his rightful place at Feli's side.

"Maybe," he mumbled, so full of longing that he wanted to cry. So what if it was true? Maybe summer made him think of Spain. So what if he liked the heat of this place, where he could close his eyes and pretend he was home. Maybe the summer reminded him of olive groves, or the days spent sweating beneath sheet-shaded streets. Maybe if he just dreamed hard enough, he could see tan skin and dark, dust-brown hair and—_Come inside, Lovi. You'll really look like a tomato if you fall asleep in the sun like that_!

"I thought that might be it." Feliciano's voice shattered the dream world he'd drifted into, cutting into the echoing sound of Antonio's stupid laugh. He almost could have hated his brother for it, before he woke up and remembered reality again. "It's kinda like that for me too. I like painting because it reminds me of Grandpa." Feli's nostalgic, bitter-sweet smile hurt to look at, so Romano simply turned away. "And I even kind of like doing chores, because it makes me think of…" The name went unsaid, but Romano knew exactly who his brother was talking about. The Empire of fools himself.

"It's not the same!" He shouted without really thinking. He rejected the idea that his precious Spain and that blasted Holy Roman Empire could be comparable in any way, even if only in their absence. He had to believe they were different, or he just might lose himself to despair. Spain was definitely, definitely going to come for him. He couldn't let himself believe otherwise. Antonio was going to come in, axe bared, and cut down everything in his path to take Romano back. But that brat of an Empire was never coming back for….

Oh.

"Hm. Probably not." Feli's voice rang hollow. The knife of guilt twisted itself firmly into the pit of Romano's stomach at the sound. "You've actually got a chance of seeing big brother Spain again, right? I'm the only one who's just dreaming."

"Feli, that's not—"

"I'm not that stupid, Romano," he interrupted. He didn't sound angry or even upset. Romano almost wished he would, because anything had to be better than this cold, resigned version of his little brother. It was just so _wrong_ that it made him feel sick. "I know he's not coming back. Just like Grandpa. Just like you, whenever Spain finally takes you back." Romano had to wince. What could he say in protest? Hadn't he been praying all this time for Spain to come get him so he wouldn't have to worry about Feli anymore?

"No, it won't be like that with me," he gritted, not even sure what he was saying. Feliciano laughed in answer, but it was a haunting, shattered sound.

"Of course! Maybe you'll visit me every few years, right?" He'd never heard his little brother try for sarcasm before, but he'd always assumed it was sound completely out of place. He was right. Romano floundered, his brain working overtime to try and find some way to make this right.

"I…"

"Don't worry, Roma. I don't think I could blame you. If Holy Rome actually wanted me there, I'd leave in a heartbeat." And wasn't that just part of the problem? Because that idiot Empire actually _did_ want Feli around, but he was too terrified of the possible consequences to reach for him.

"Feli, I think…" Romano wished desperately that he was strong enough to tell the truth. In the face of his brother's hurt, the plans they'd cooked up seemed suddenly idiotic. "I think that's…" But what was he supposed to say? How could he tell Feli that the Holy Roman Empire simply loved him too much to see him again? Worse, how was he going to explain that idiot's suspicions about the remainder of his lifetime? He was frozen with nauseating apprehension.

"Look, I'm okay with it, really." Feli smiled like an angel and lied through his teeth. "But… until you go away too, could you at least not hide from me anymore?" Romano felt suddenly as if he'd been kicked in the chest. He had hoped his dorky little brother would be too busy with his chores and his "family" to notice, but he should have known that to Feli he was transparent as glass. What if he'd only made it worse, trying to spare his brother's feelings…?

"…sorry." He grumbled, hating himself for the hurt he'd caused. He couldn't meet Feli's liquid-brown eyes.

"Thanks Roma. I don't know what I did to make you mad, but I can try really hard not to do it again. It's just… It gets kind of lonely, you know?" The younger representation of Italy was leaning against Romano's shoulder now, his words muttered against the fabric of Romano's shirt.

That was it. He couldn't bear to lie any longer. Consequences be damned, he couldn't look at Feli's heart-broken face even one moment more and still live with himself.

"Feliciano, the Empire—" And then something happened to make him forget his trouble and his brother's heart completely. War. Romano nearly choked on his own tongue as the first hints of battle pervaded his senses. He was blind-sided by the sudden vision of clashing steel—the sickening, heart-racing sense of an invading army somewhere in his land. That feeling flooded him until his very sense of self had drowned. He sat wide-eyed and wordless in the wake—oblivious to Feli's worried prodding while the echoes of shouting soldiers pounded in his skull.

As a rule, Romano hated war. It felt horrible and foreign. All the other countries liked to fight their stupid battles on his land. He was left devastated and ill every time even though he hadn't even wanted to fight in the first place. He didn't understand how nations like Prussia or that blasted Empire could so eagerly jump into the fray, even if they were fighting mostly on foreign soil. Surely they didn't _like_ feeling like there was something breathing down the back of their neck—like something unknown and horrible was on the horizon. They couldn't possibly _enjoy_ the tiny pin-pricks of pain that came with every soldier's death. And yes, people died every day, but not like this. This was different, because it was just… _wrong_ somehow. Every death left a dull ache behind it, a hollow, tiny hole in Roma's heart. He couldn't take that kind of pain. He wasn't strong enough for battle.

But this time, when he felt that nameless tension settle over him, the shiver that pervaded him was not one of fear, nor even of revulsion. He welcomed it this time. He wanted it. He could almost see the battlefield if he tried—the ships sweeping in to Sardinia and taking it with ease, that idiot Antonio standing at the prow of the biggest frigate and directing the charge… He _knew_ that's what was happening. And for the first time in his life, he was actually happy to welcome the beginnings of war. He felt alive—like his blood was singing in his veins. Like all the built up tension from this endless _waiting_ for something to happen had finally left him. He was relieved and excited and worried all at once and he wasn't sure what to do with all of it. He just—

"_Lovino_!" He came back to himself some measureless time later, his left cheek stinging and Feli's hand still hovering near his face. Even so, it took him a full minute to put two and two together and realize that Feliciano had actually slapped him.

"Ow! _Che cosa diavolo era quello? _That hurt, you…!_"_ He paused to look at his little brother, _really_ look at him, and froze. Those big, brown eyes were full of tears, lip trembling.

"I… You… and I thought you weren't breathing and you wouldn't answer me _e io non sapevo cosa stava succedendo. __Cosa è successo? Tutto bene? Ti sei fatto male? E—e—io non voglio essere di nuovo solo!"_ Feli launched himself at Romano's chest as he rambled, nearly tackling him to the floor of the attic, completely senseless and frantic.

"Whoa! Feli, calm down, I'm fine!" His head was still swimming, but Lovino knew he had to placate his brother somehow. He knew he should try to be comforting, maybe just return Feli's awkward embrace or something but he didn't know what to do with his arms. "It was just…" He didn't know how to say it; his excitement successfully quelled as he saw the full extent of his brother's hysteria.

"You scared me. I don't want you to go away yet." Romano's gut wrenched. He'd never really given much thought as to how much Feli would miss him. He'd been too excited about seeing Spain again to care, but this… "Wh—what was that, anyway?" He didn't know how to answer. This was the thing he'd been waiting for for _so long_. This was what he'd dreamed of. What he _needed_. He should just tell Feli that Spain had started moving, that the war had begun. He should tell Feli that Spain was going to plow through every barrier, and take him home no matter what. He should say that it was only a matter of time before he got the thing he wanted most, and Feliciano was left behind with no one.

…

"It… it was nothing." Feli caught the lie, but he nodded and pretended to believe for Romano's sake. And Romano couldn't do anything but sit quietly in his brother's grasp and try to ignore the stomach-turning sensation of his whole world turning upside down.

* * *

><p>Translations:<br>I don't speak Italian so I'm well aware that these are BOUND to be incorrect. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CORRECT ME.

_Che cosa diavolo era quello?-_What the hell was that?

_e io non sapevo ...__di nuovo solo (Feli's rant)- _and I didn't know what was happening. What happened? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? and—and—I don't want to be alone again!


	6. Interlude: Information Gathering

O_O  
>So I sat and agonized over the next chapter for WEEKS, and then this just kind of sprung from my hands before I knew what I was doing...<br>Hope you don't mind it. It's kind of a recap/explaination of Spain's side of things thus far. haha.

The PM mentioned here is Prime Minister Alberoni, a Spanish Cardinal who was instrumental in fixing Spain post War of Spanish Succesion. One of the stipulations of peace after the War of the Quadruple Alliance was that he be dismissed from office. The queen is Isabella Farnesse, and Itallian princess who, some say, pushed her husband toward a policy of re-conquering South Italy.

Hope you enjoy. Feedback is HIGHLY appreciated.

EDIT 7/21/11: Added translations, fixed some typos.

* * *

><p>The following is a series of excerpts from an unusually large stack of top secret correspondences pertaining to the War of the Quadruple Alliance. This collection, mostly letters, still sits hidden away in many different drawers in a state mansion in Vienna.<p>

* * *

><p>A short letter, discovered in the pack of a Spanish tradesman en route to Vienna:<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo estás? It's been…. A month since they took you from me. I was sick for some time after that, or I would have tried to write sooner. __¡__Lo __prometo__! (Aw, don't look at me like that! I'm telling the truth!)_

_I know those bastards mean to keep you from communicating with me, but I'll figure something out somehow. I'm going to go crazy like this.(And don't say that I'm already crazy. It's never smart to call a crazy person out, you know Lovinito.)_

_I can't say anything important—just in case this letter is found—but I want you to know that I'm already putting plans into motion to get you back. _

_Te amo,_

_Antonio_

_PS: If this reaches you, please reply. I would hope my courier manages to get it to you somehow—if so, send your reply letter back with him. If not… well, you'll think of something. You're so smart!~_

* * *

><p>Letter discovered rolled into one empty bottle of Juarez Sherry and hidden amongst a shipment for a state mansion in Vienna:<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo estás?As for me, I am feeling a little better. There is still a lot left over to clean up after everyone decided to fight on my land, haha~ Don't worry Lovi, I can handle it. _

_My new king is not bad, even if he is originally one of France's people. (Don't worry, he's not much like Francis. I promise he won't try anything weird! He knows he'd be introduced with my lovely axe if he tried~) He's married a princess of yours, actually. She's very headstrong, but kind. She reminds me of you a bit. _

…_Is it bad that I wish you were here to tell me how creepy and weird I am? It used to make me mad a little but now I really miss it. Ah, I'll let you say whatever mean things you want next time I see you, mi corazón.  
><em>

_Anyway, just know that I'm taking steps to get you out of there. I'll find you. _

_Te amo siempre,_

_Antonio_

_PS: If this letter manages to reach you, please reply. I am starting to think this is impossible; this is the 13__th__ such letter I've tried to send. But if I keep sending more, those jerks have to mess up sometime, right? Surely one letter will get through to you…?_

* * *

><p>Sample letter from a set of 12, each was found folded inside a carefully hollowed out Valencia orange, hidden amongst a shipment for a Vienna state mansion. The paper smells strongly of citrus, and the ink is slightly smudged.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo estás? __Finalmente, yo puedo decir que estoy bien, más o menos. __I have a new prime minister and he seems to understand what I need. I had forgotten how it felt to be this healthy—I'd been feeling down for so long that I hadn't even noticed any more, haha!_

_I think I might feel better if I weren't missing you so badly… I've been so busy staring out the window towards Vienna that I'd nearly forgotten the tomato garden out back. The tomatoes! I know! It's almost blasphemy! I promise to do penance for it when you get back though. You'll have to think of some kind of unthinkable punishment to inflict on me for my crimes against the poor tomatoes. _

_Te amo más que puedo decir. _

_Antonio_

_PS: If this letter, or any of the other somehow get to you, I hope you will write back. I'm starting to wonder if maybe the letters are arriving after all and you don't __want__ to write me back…. If that is the case, please tell me and I will leave you alone. All you have to do is say the word and I will leave you be. Even if it might kill me a little. _

* * *

><p>Letter found wrinkled and rather dog-eared in the pocket of one drunk, albino Prussian en route to a state mansion in Austria. The unwitting courier had no memories of being given the letter, and maintains that his sherry must have been spiked with something else. The paper carries the faint scent of rum.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_You didn't answer my last twelve notes, so I'm going to assume that you don't want me to stop writing. Which is good. But that means that you either haven't gotten any of my letters at all, or something has happened to you…_

_Or you're just laughing at me and imagining me worry and enjoying putting me through all of this, right? Haha~ very funny, love. I'm sure that must be it._

_Well, even if you're toying with me, you may as well know I'm doing everything I can to bring you home. We're rebuilding the armada again. I can't put any specifics, but I can tell you that this war isn't over yet, Lovi. It won't be over until I have you back. _

_Sinceramente,_

_Tu Antonio_

_PS: Te Amo. _

* * *

><p>Scrapped note taken from a desk drawer at an inn in Vigo. It appears to have been balled up at some point, and the ink is smeared in several places.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo Estás? I miss you. I don't know what to do without you. I'm too used to having you around to keep me from going completely insane, I think. But I'm sure you're probably fine. You don't really need me that much, do you? You never seemed to._

_And if I ever actually sent this letter, you'd probably hate me for being so pathetic, ¿no? _

The rest of this document is too crinkled to read.

* * *

><p>Strange correspondence found by an Austrian foreign minister in a waste bin at the palace in Madrid.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo Estás? __Life over here is not so bad, even though I miss you so much that it hurts. I know things sound bad, what with everyone deciding to ally against me—even France! Can you believe that? Haha, yes I'm sure you could. You like to warn me about Francis, ¿no? Maybe I should listen sometime. Still, I'm sure I can handle it. If it's for you, I think I could handle anything, Lovi. _

_You'd probably hit me for that last sentence if you could, wouldn't you… I should probably just start over now. I'd rather you not hate me for my inanity by the time I finally get you back! _

_Why am I writing this? It's probably going to be destroyed before it reaches you anyway….._

The page ends in a series of strange scribbles and half-doodles thought at one time to be some kind of secret code. It was later revealed to be a sketch of an axe hewing down men of several different and distinct European nationalities.

* * *

><p>Letter used as packing for the transport of a few Mallorcan pearls en route to Vienna<p>

_Carísimo Lovino_

_¿Cómo Estás? I'm doing well. The new ships are looking lovely and all Europe is poised to jump at my throat, so of course I'm having the time of my life. The only thing I'm missing is you, my dear~_

_I know I haven't written to you much lately. I should have. Maybe this is never going to get to you, but hey, that's half the fun of it._ _Besides, __you'd never forgive me if I stop, right? Since you undoubtedly miss me so much. (Haha, you look so cute when you blush, mi corazón.)_

_Or maybe I'm just fooling myself and you really don't care one way or the other. If that's the case, then I'm sorry, but these silly notes are going to keep coming until you're back where you belong. You should probably just figure out a way to sabotage your bespectacled captor and run here as quickly as possible just so you can make the letters stop, haha!_

_In any case, whether you free yourself or no, I'll be coming to get you soon. My plans are almost ready to spring. _

_Te amo tanto que me duele__,_

_Antonio_

* * *

><p>Letter taken after the end of the War of the Quadruple Alliance from the desk of one Prime Minister Alberoni. It was left crumpled and forgotten amidst a pile of state papers.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo Estás? I mean it every single time I ask, you know. I wish so much that you could tell me the answer. I need to know how you are. You get into so much trouble and now I can't be there to get you out of it. There's nothing I can do; no way of knowing how you are except to hope and to pray. I pray every night, that maybe I'd be able to hear your answer. I'll keep repeating "Cómo Estás" into the dark like a man possessed, just begging to hear you say, just once, "Bien."_

_Well, that's not right. If it's you, you'd never answer anyway. You'd probably hit me for speaking Spanish, and storm away until you got hungry. Dear god, what part of my soul wouldn't I give just to see that?_

_Good thing I'm not sending this letter. You'd never come back if you read it, haha! __Debo parecer bastante loco, ¿no?_

* * *

><p>Letter sent in the regular fashion to a state mansion in Vienna. The ink is rather dark in places, and blotted as though the author wrote with an unusually tight grip.<p>

_Caro Bastardo,_

_It has recently come to my attention that you idiots decided to just… __**give**__ Romano to the Holy Roman Empire. If you think this decision will stop me in any way, you are sadly mistaken._

_It doesn't matter where you put him. Where you hide him. How you try to keep him from me. What treaties you make. None of it matters at all. I'll cut my way through all of Europe if I have to, and damn the consequences. You seem to care about things like the balance of power and the world economy and whatnot. Let me make it perfectly clear; I don't. I'll burn everything in my path, and kill all who oppose me, country or man._

_Guess you took more of me than you thought when you ripped Romano away. Did you know that he's the source of my sanity? Probably holds all the morality and the ethics too. I've never really paid attention to that sort of thing._

_Honestly, you should just make it easier on yourself and hand him over. Because if you don't, consider this my abrogation of our little ceasefire. I will see you before the year ends, Roderich. And with any luck, I'll see you run through with Toledo steel. _

_Thoughtfully yours,_

_Antonio Fernández Carriedo _

* * *

><p>Letter delivered to the palace in Madrid by and Austrian Foreign minister.<p>

_Spain,_

_If I had any questions as to the state of your sanity, you have just answered them. Thank you for that. It's good to know that you have completely lost your mind. I won't feel so horribly about it when I manage to kill you. Like putting down a mad dog—I suppose it's somewhat my responsibility now._

_Interesting that you found out about our idea for Romano. I suppose this means I'll have to go on a spy hunt again, but it's just as likely that that idiot Gilbert let it slip on one of your mutual drinking binges. _

_Please go die,_

_Austria_

_PS: Please resume your feeble attempts to converse with Romano; it's been a cold winter and I'm running low on tinder. I always appreciate the free paper. It seems taking away your morality didn't interfere with your generosity, in any case._

* * *

><p>Return note disposed of by Austrian Foreign minister due to vulgar language.<p>

_Caro Puta de mierda,_

_¡Me cago en la madre que te parió! Yo te mataré. Better watch your back._

_Sinceramente,_

_Antonio Fernández Carriedo _

* * *

><p>Note found in the pocket of one albino Prussian.<p>

_Gilbert-_

_I'm writing this down because, from the looks of things, you're going to be too drunk to remember anything in the morning. You should drink some water for that hangover, by the way. There's a fresh-drawn pitcher on the table._

_Anyway, thank you for getting that letter to Lovi~ …do you think it would, kind of, maybe, a little, be possible to send another? _

_Or if not, you could just tell him I miss him? Or something? You see him every once in a while, right? You see that Austria often enough, so you must—_

_Right. Anyway, I'll give you today to figure out your answer. If you're still here when I get back from the Prime Minister's mansion, we'll hit up the palace cook for dinner. _

_Hopefully,_

_Your friend Antonio_

* * *

><p>Letter attached to the above. Written at the header in bright red ink are the words, "THERE IS NOTHING SEDITIOUS ABOUT THIS LETTER."<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_¿Cómo estás? I hope you are still doing well. I heard about Austria's little bid to have you hidden away. I'm glad to know it didn't work, but even if it had, it wouldn't have mattered. I'd come get you no matter what_

_Gilbert mentioned that Feli has been quite ill. Is it something he caught from the humans, or is his fight with the Turks going more poorly than I thought? Poor cute little Feli! Tell him to get better soon for me. Still, if it's something human, make sure you don't get too close. I know you'll be worried about your brother, but I wouldn't want you to get sick when I can't be there to take care of you, mi corazón. (You're blushing right now, and I'd just like to tell you, that you look completely adorable that way.) _

_In other news, I am almost ready to make my move. I will be coming for you very soon. _

_Muchísimo amor,_

_Tu Antonio_

_PS: I don't expect a reply, really. Gilbert wouldn't take letters back and forth because he maintains that he is not a courier service. But I do request that when I finally see you again, you must tell me absolutely everything that happened while we were apart. I don't like missing so much of your life. Even a day without you is too much._

_PPS: Te amo._

* * *

><p>Short scrip delivered by a confused, but polite and discreet Prussian spy.<p>

_Awesome friend,_

_Sorry man. The Moled Wonder caught me._

_In my defense, I did warn you that it wasn't going to work. _

_-Awesome Me._

* * *

><p>Letter found in the possession of one rather flustered Spanish foreign minister to Vienna shortly after his dismissal from that city.<p>

_Persistent buffoon,_

_I'd like to ask you not to use Prussia as your personal espionage network, although I don't know why I should have to. I'm surprised you even made the attempt. You of all people should not just how inconspicuous he __**isn't**__. However, I suppose I must thank you for reminding me just how incompetent and foolish my (supposed) allies are. I should have known better than to let that idiot anywhere near my house anyway._

_Your penmanship antics have been amusing, and have made for great comedic reading material, but this has to stop. I've found no less than several thousand "hidden" letters in the last three years, and while they are useful during the winter, it is currently spring and I am running out of servants due to investigations of sedition and treason. (I do admit to being curious; just how did you manage to hide a letter in my morning tea anyhow?)_

_By the way, before sending your foreign minister away (Something you should have done after your little declaration of war, just so you're aware. I know you have trouble with things as trivial as "diplomacy.") I took the liberty of asking him what "me cago in la madre que te parió" means. He would not answer me, so I have to assume that it is entirely too vulgar in nature to be repeated. I could come up with something worse, I'm sure, but I'm not feeling childish enough to sink to your level just yet. _

_Glad to know that your invasion is coming up soon; I'll be prepared._

_Wishing you a violent end,_

_Austria_

_PS: If you really must know… Romano and Feliciano are both fine. _

* * *

><p>Letter discovered stashed between the pages of a Spanish ship-of-the-line's Captain's log.<p>

_Carísimo Lovino,_

_I know you've missed my letters but I can't write long. I'm on a ship just offshore of Sardinia as I write now, working by the oil of a lamp that's running low. Tomorrow we storm the beach, and I think despite my warnings and threats, Austria expects nothing. The fool. _

_Right, not much time so I'll be quick. I'm sorry I am invading from Sardinia first. I know how much you hate fighting, and it pains me to start a war on your land. However, this was truly the only plan I could think of that didn't involve failure or killing poor Feli, and all joking aside, I know you wouldn't be able to function without your baby brother. (Don't worry, I promise not to tell anyone you actually care about him. Haha.) I'm going to take Sardinia, and then I'll take Sicily, then Naples. And when I have you securely in my arms again, I'll go for that bastard Austria's throat. _

_I'll kill him for taking you. I __**swear**__ that I will._

_Seems to be a little oil left so I guess I'll tell you about the battle—the Queen arranged a lot of it. She's very smart, and very stubborn. Did you know she even plans to head one of the platoons herself? And her with babies to take care of! I don't know how she does it._

_…Did I mention that she reminds me of you? (Haha. Please don't hit me next time you see me.)_

_Te Amo casi demasiado,_

_Antonio_

* * *

><p>Translation notes: (wow, I forgot them again. haha)<p>

(these are mostly endearments... -_-;; Antonio's a romantic.)

__Carísimo- __Dearest

_¿Cómo estás?- _How are you?

_Te Amo._ - I love you

_Te amo siempre_.- I love you always

_Finalmente, yo puedo decir que estoy bien, más o menos._- Finally, I can say that I'm fine, more or less.

_Te amo más que puedo decir._- I love you more than I can say.

_Te amo tanto que me duele_- I love you so much that it hurts.

_Debo parecer bastante loco, ¿no?_- I must seem pretty crazy, huh?

_Caro Puta de mierda,- _Dear Son-of-a-bitch,

_¡Me cago en la madre que te parió! - _Literally, this phrase means: "I shit on the mother that bore you!" but it's basically just one of the biggest insults that a Spaniard his in his repetoir. I told you Spanish curses were weird.

_Yo te mataré- _I'm going to kill you.

_Muchísimo amor- _The most love

_Te Amo casi demasiado,- _I love you almost too much


End file.
